Tarsus IV Rescue and JT's Return to Earth
by CharactersSecretsExposed
Summary: Starfleet arrives on Tarsus IV to start the rescue and evacuation of it's inhabitants. Christopher Pike joins a search party to look for a group of children and is the only one who can inadvertently win over the trust of their teenage leader. Starfleet returns to earth where J.T meets the members of his future Starship crew. Christopher Pike succumbs to his parental side.
1. Rescue

Christopher Pike slumped into a chair, exhaustion lining his face. As he sat, he surveyed the scene around him. The medical tent he was seated in was filled with lone people of all ages, although majority were young children. Rare few huddled in pairs or groups; most sat in preferred isolation, staring at the waterproof wall with hollow eyes. Miserable noises and heartbreaking cries filled the tent, adding to his already grim mood. Pike sensed movement approaching from his left and he glanced up instinctively to identify the owner of the presence.

'It's sickening' Stephen Garrovick spat out as he dropped into the adjacent chair.

'How could anyone want to be responsible for _this_?'

He gestured towards the depressing scene around them. Pike stared blankly at the suffering.

'Someone without a conscience,' he replied bluntly.

Garrovick grunted in agreement and slouched sideways in the chair.

'Anyway, I'm collaborating a team to sweep the southern forest. You're welcome to join; it'd be something to do and frankly, anything's better than sitting here absorbing the miserable atmosphere'.

Pike frowned slightly and swiveled his head towards the Starfleet Captain next to him.

'What do you expect to find there?'

Garrovick shrugged.

'There's been new intel of a group of kids living in the forest. If we can find them and get them to trust us we'd be saving a good number of children'.

Pike nodded slowly, his lieutenant instincts kicking in - if it was a chance to save more lives, it wouldn't hurt to look.

'I'm in,' he told Garrovick, 'when do we leave?'

Garrovick slapped the Captain's shoulders in encouragement and pushed himself off the seat.

'10 minutes, grab your gear'.

* * *

Christopher Pike scanned the trees surrounding the small group of Starfleet officers. Their phasers remained undrawn so as not to frighten the children they had come to save. Pike, along with three red-shirts carried supply bags whereas Garrovick and a blue-shirt hauled along packs filled with medical supplies and nutrient supplements. The officers had been trekking the forest for quite some time devoid of action. There was virtually no sign of life - save for forest animals - and their motivational attitudes were gradually replaced by weariness. _We could be searching for hours without finding any kids_ thought Pike. Twenty seconds later he had to eat his own words.

The attack was silent, efficient and fast. Too fast for the reaction time of 6 adults. The forest had been silent; too silent, Pike had pondered - not even the ever present sounds of wildlife. His mind bored from the uneventful walking, Pike had failed to connect the absence of sound to the presence to danger. Too late, he realised his mistake as the forest burst into life.

Wack!

A heavy branch collided against Pike's shins, bringing him to his knees from the sharp pain. His assailant took the opportunity to jump onto his shoulders and pummel his head. Yelling in pain and shock, Pike retaliated. He pitched forward, rolling on the leaf covered floor as his body hit the ground; knocking off whoever had inhabited his upper body. A muffled yell confirmed his inference and he leapt to his feet, his body crouched in the defensive position that had been drilled into his younger self countless times at the Academy. His aggressive mindset was annihilated however, when he caught sight of his attacker. Two pairs of dark brown eyes stared defiantly back from a height barely below his waist. Quickly, he flicked his eyes towards the other officers and realised that they too, were blindly fighting extremely young opponents. He locked his eyes on the small child once more before the they could take offensive action.

WWWPPPPPPP!

A piercing whistle caused the child to ignore Pike and scamper towards the source. Pike straightened up and whipped his head around the vicinity. The other children who had been attacking the adults had fled towards the whistler as well, leaving the small group baffled at their brief squabble.

Curiously the Starfleet officers all turned to see what, or whom had caused the children to abandon their assault. Pike hesitated when he noticed a blonde hair, blue eyed teenager standing protectively in front of their attackers. He appeared to be the oldest of the children and was aiming a battered phaser towards the group of adults.

It was set to 'kill'.

The leader glared menacingly at the small group, he held the phaser with a steady hand, finger ready on the trigger.

'Who the hell are you?' he demanded.

Pike swallowed nervously. The teenager was a potential threat, there was no doubt in Pike's mind that he wouldn't hesitate to shoot their group should they endanger the children huddled behind the boy. His eyes were particularly unnerving - they were a piercing blue and tugged at an unreachable memory buried deep within Pike. All the children looked malnourished but were relatively unharmed. The same could not be said for their leader, however. Majority of his body was covered in filthy, threadbare material but his uncovered skin had wounds cross-crossing their surface; some which had already scarred. Pike narrowed his eyes, they looked suspiciously like whip marks and covered parts of his arms, legs and chest that was visible. The hand that wasn't holding the phaser was hanging limply at his side, wrapped in crude bandages that did little to hide the swelling underneath. Pike knew a broken hand when he saw it. For the umpteenth time since his arrival to the planet, Christopher Pike felt a surge of rage and bitter disgust at the tyrant Kodos who had ravaged Tarsus IV and it's inhabitants before Starfleet's arrival - the children's health conditions were obviously his doing.

'Mute are you?' the teen asked rudely when none of the officers spoke, 'If you don't tell me who you are in 10 seconds I'll shoot you - I don't care who'.

Garrovick stepped forward to the address the teen who instantly swivelled the phaser around to the Captain's chest. Garrovick halted at the visible threat and raised his hands halfway in a sign of peace.

'We do not mean you any harm,' he began slowly, 'we're only here to help you - we're from Starfleet'.

The teenager snorted.

'I'm not stupid - I see you bloody uniforms. Don't mean jack though, you could be lying for all I know'.

'We're not, Starfleet was alerted to the situation on Tarsus IV only recently and we're here to conduct a rescue of the survivors. My name is Stephen Garrovick – Captain of the USS Farragut – and I would very much like to help you should you allow it; we have food and medical supplies we can offer you'.

The children behind the teenager grew restless at the mention of food but the boy didn't waver, his eyes dangerous and mistrusting. His gaze darted to each officer, calculating and analyzing. Surprisingly, when it reached Pike his eyes remained far longer than it had for any of the other adult's -drilling deep into his subconscious and rendering him slightly uncomfortable. Finally, the teenager seemed to come to a decision. He returned his eyes to Garrovick and lowered the phaser.

'Fine. But I'll only let three officers in the cave, the rest of you have to go back to wherever you came from - I don't want to find you hiding in the trees neither'.

Garrovick nodded and smiled warmly at the teenager.

'Of course,' he agreed.

'I want him to come,' the leader jabbed the phaser at Pike, 'and only he can choose the other two officers. Make sure you bring med's'.

The officers turned to Pike quizzically but he was baffled as they were. Garrovick chucked a look in his direction before addressing the teenager again.

'We can do that,' he agreed.

'Choose; you've got 10 seconds before I clear out of here,' the teenager ordered the Garrovick.

He turned towards the younger children and they scattered into the trees at his subtle hand gesture.

'5 seconds,' he yelled over his shoulder, already beginning to walk towards the maze of trees.

Pike snapped into reality.

'Garrovick and you – he pointed to a medical officer – we'll follow the kid. The rest of you head back to base,'

He shot out the orders in rapid succession and the team hastily obeyed them. In 5 seconds they were following the teenager into the forest.


	2. The Cave

Pike's eyes widened as he caught sight of the entrance of a cave hidden in the dense vegetation. The officers had been following the teenager through an endless forest of trees for the good part of an hour and where thoroughly exhausted. The teenager flicked his gaze warily around the small clearing before gesturing to the adults to stay where they were.

'The scout group should've already gotten here and warned the rest but I want to check first before you lot go in,' he told them before nimbly maneuvering his way towards and into the cave.

After a minute the teenager reappeared from the cave entrance and beckoned the officers in, once again checking the clearing for signs of danger. Pike glanced at Garrovick who merely shrugged in reply. Proceeding with caution, the trio of Starfleet officers followed the teenager into the cave. Ducking under the low doorway, Pike hesitated as he took in the interior.

The cave was filled with children, all younger than the boy whom had threatened them. They were huddled together in small groups and extremely malnourished. Their appearance was starved, but their eyes reflected their strong spirit.

'J.T!'

A small girl threw herself at their escort and a warm smile replaced his stoic face.

'Hey Lucy,' he said, ruffling her hair, 'how you doing kid?'

'Good,' the small child beamed up at her father figure, 'Kev says you're bringing strangers with food and medicine'.

'Yeah,' he nudged her shoulder towards the officers.

The small girl's eyes widened as she caught sight of the adults. Pike smiled at the child but faltered a flicker of wariness passed her eyes; she scurried off towards the safety of the other children. JT walked towards the officers, his face hard once again.

'Open your bags, lets see your supplies,' he ordered the officers.

The adults complied and the teenager relaxed fractionally when the packs were opened to reveal food and medicine. He nodded towards the only blue-shirt in the group.

'You a medical officer?' He asked.

The blue-shirt nodded.

'Good. Grab you med-kit and follow me; the rest of you distribute the food - not too much, just give them small portions.

Pike nodded, he knew the teenager would be watching them like a hawk regardless if he supervised the medical officer. Garrovick began delving through the food and water they had brought with them and Pike quickly followed suit, he watched J.T out of the corner of his eye. The cave was small, so he could easily hear the boy wherever he went. J.T walked towards and crouched down next to a small boy huddled next to a rocky wall.

'Tom, hey buddy, I want you to meet someone; he's a grown up and he's gonna fix your burns, Ok?'

His voice was reassuring and compassionate compared to the cold, hard tone it had been. Little Tom looked up with wide eyes and Pike felt a pang of shock and sympathy as he noticed a serious looking burn that covered one side of the small boy's face.

'Charlotte, Luke,'

J.T beckoned two other children over. They both had lacerations and other injuries but nothing as serious as Tom or J.T.

'I'll leave you to fix them,'

He indicated to the children and the medical officer immediately nodded, his hand already searching his supplies for the equipment necessary to heal the children's wounds. J.T watched the medical officer for a few seconds and then left when he was satisfied the children were in good hands. Pike averted his eyes from the teenager and concentrated on the task of distributing small amounts food to the children. They ate slowly, allowing their bodies to adjust to the increased intake of food. Pike's heart broke.

'When did Starfleet get here?'

Pike twisted his head around and saw J.T standing beside him, eyes darting around the room. Missing nothing.

'Almost a month ago,' Pike responded.

He threw an energy bar towards the teenager who caught it and began to devour it at the same painstakingly slow pace as the other children.

'J.T!'

An Andorian walked up towards the pair, she addressed the teenager in her native language.

'If there are grown ups here does that mean we get to go home?' she asked.

'I'm not sure yet, I'll talk to them first to make sure they're good guys. Go sit down now; make sure you get something to eat, ok?' J.T replied in Andorian.

'Ok.'

The child gave him a smile before walking back to her friends. Pike raised and eyebrow in surprise; up till now he hadn't known the boy could speak another language. He was smart, Pike was certain of that much. He'd have to be if he'd sheltered all these children before Starfleet arrived.

* * *

Half an hour later, all the children had eaten to their full – including those who had received medical attention. Little Tom was sitting with the rest of the children – a wide smile plastered on his face, as he no longer tried to hide the horrific wound. The medical officer had done an outstanding job but as always, injuries were racing against time and time had already done it's work on Tom's face – his burns were on their way to recovery but he would be permanently scarred for the rest of his life. Pike leaned against the wall of the cave, Garrovick sitting beside him while they both ate food to replace the energy of their earlier hike. Pike observed J.T who was sitting on the opposite side of the cave. He had refused to allow the medical officer near enough to heal his wounds and had insisted that he heal them himself. The exasperated medical officer had then watched as the teenager had swiped his dermal regenerator and walked off to – true to his word – heal himself. Pike watched in fascination as J.T deftly handled the dermal regenerator; most of the cuts were deep however and Pike knew that they would leave scars. A Vulcan boy walked over to the older boy and began to converse to J.T in his native language. J.T replied fluently and they appeared to have reached a conclusion, for J.T sat down in front of the small boy and allowed him to lift his shirt to heal the cuts underneath. Pike cringed as he spotted the cruel red lines across the teenager's torso. When the Vulcan was finished, he handed the dermal regenerator back to J.T who stuck it back in the pack containing medical supplies. He smiled and ruffled the Vulcan boy, murmured one last thing to him in Vulcan and made his way over to Pike.

'I've made my decision,' he told the lieutenant abruptly.

Pike gestured for him to continue. J.T rested his hands on his hips and huffed out a breath that had been pent up.

'These kids, they have _nothing_ left. Nothing. I've done the best I can but there's no way I can keep them all alive forever. So, I'm willing to let you 'rescue' my kids if you show me where your ship is so that I can confirm you really are Starfleet'.

Pike nodded.

'When did you want to leave?' he asked.

'Now'.


	3. Identity

J.T stayed behind the tree line as he watched the buzz of activity around and inside the rows of medical tents. His eyes darted around the vicinity before turning back to Pike.

'Ok,' he told the lieutenant, take me back to the cave and you can call a shuttlecraft to take my kids to medical'.

Pike silently breathed out a sigh of relief and he nodded in agreement to the teenager's request.

* * *

The shuttlecraft touched down in the clearing outside the cave. Christopher Pike stood next to the entrance with J.T by his side and together, they watched as the shuttlecraft landed; it's engine's dying off and the door opening. Christoper Pike walked towards the door where the pilot was beginning to alight from the vehicle. Garrovick and the medical officer had decided to stay at their base to prepare for the arrival of the children whilst Pike had accompanied J.T back to the cave. After a few minutes of conversing the two officers came to an agreement and the pilot returned to the controls as Pike signaled the 'all clear' to J.T. The boy disappeared briefly as he slipped inside the cave. Moments later, his head popped back out with his 'kids' and watched their journey from the cave to the shuttlecraft. Once all the kids were inside, he waited until Pike had boarded before entering the shuttlecraft himself. The Pilot appeared to have noticed the staunch in the flow of passengers for he turned around towards Pike who nodded in confirmation. The pilot returned his gaze to the windshield and powered the engines. The shuttlecraft rose and the children stirred as they felt a slight tremor move through their seats. In seconds, they were heading back to the join the rest of Starfleet. Pike watched as J.T talked reassuringly to each of the children and answered any and every question they asked. _He's like a father to them_, thought Pike. It was fitting – they had all lost their parents in the massacre after all.

The Shuttle touched down and the passengers alighted the craft. J.T monitored his kids as they were whisked off to various tents. He was pestered by various medical officers but brushed them off, insisting on ensuring that his kids were being taken good care. Pike watched the irritated doctors and nurses and decided to intervene for J.T's sake – he knew first hand their skill with sedatives on an uncooperative individual.

'J.T,' he laid a hand on the boys shoulder, 'I'll make sure they're in good hands – I swear on it. You've got to get yourself checked out before you kill yourself – your kids would say the same'.

JT looked up at Pike with his eccentric blue eyes. He scrutinized the Captain for a few minutes, causing Pike discomfort as he searched his memory once again for that particular shade of blue.

'Ok'.

The answer was so unpredictable and simple that it took Pike by surprise. He stood there for a few seconds before jolting himself back into reality.

'Good,' he replied, meeting the eyes of a waiting medical officer behind the teenager.

The nurse understood the message in his eyes and gestured the teenager towards a medical tent, allowing him his personal space and refraining from making contact with the boy. Pike breathed out in relief – now to check up on a considerable number of children. He wouldn't have much trouble falling asleep tonight.

* * *

Pike crunched on an Apple. All of the kids he'd rescued, no – the kids that J.T had rescued were fast asleep and on the road to recovery. As he passed a medical tent, a heated argument grew in volume and he frowned, ducking inside to see if he could be of assistance. He blinked in surprise when he saw J.T lounging comfortably on a bed, glaring defiantly at a flustered looking nurse. The nurse looked up as Pike arrived inside the tent.

'Ah! Lieutenant!' the nurse exclaimed, relieved to see him, 'could you please inform this patient that he is required to provide me with his _real_ name for legality purposes – not a pseudonym or nickname like J.T'.

Pike raised his eyebrow.

'What is your name, J.T?' he asked the resilient teenager.

'Why should I tell any of you?' he replied rudely, 'There's no way I'm letting Starfleet know who I am and I'd rather be assumed dead, anyway'.

Pike rolled his eyes.

'Why? Are you in trouble with Starfleet? Is that it?' he guessed.

J.T's face remained stubborn. Pike felt the ghost of a smile touch his face; he'd experienced the very same stubbornness in an old friend of him. He quickly released the fond memory as it soon brought sadness with it – George Kirk had been a dear friend.

'I already told you, I don't want Starfleet to know who I am and no, I'm not in any legal issues with Starfleet,' J.T replied stiffly.

'So what if Starfleet finds out who you are?' Pike replied, 'everything is kept confidential and we won't treat you any differently to the other children'.

'Because,' J.T glared fiercely, 'I hate Starfleet – you were _supposed_ to be there! You were _supposed_ to save us! All Starfleet ever does it cause death'.

Pike frowned.

'Everyone who has and is receiving medical attention has cooperated even though they were affected by Starfleet's tardiness to react – how did Starfleet effect you personally to make you hate us so much?' he interrogated.

J.T looked long and hard into Pike's eyes, seeming to search his soul for an emotional reaction.

'They killed him. They killed my father; I told you – all they ever cause is death,' he spat out bitterly.

Pike hesitated; he hadn't expected something so drastic. It was common knowledge that countless men and women lost their lives out in space but he'd never considered the effect it could have on the families of those who died. With a pang of sadness, he remembered his friend George Kirk. His son's and wife would be miserable of his death – even hate Starfleet as this teenager did. Then it hit him – the colour of J.T's eyes. They were so _blue_ – the same unique colour of George Kirk's eyes. J.T's father had also died in space, could he be… the son of George Kirk? If he was, what was he doing here on this planet? Didn't anyone care for his life? He had to tread carefully here; he didn't want to mistakenly identify the teenager – that would be disastrous on so many levels.

'Ok, kid – you don't have to tell us your name if you don't want to'.

The nurse opened her mouth to protest but Pike shot her a look that silenced her instantly. J.T regarded Pike with interest, he seemed to approve. A simple nod confirmed his thoughts and Pike gave the kid a quick smile before ducking out of the tent.


	4. James Tiberius

J.T sat at a low table in the mess area, surrounded by his kids. He talked as they listened, laughed and requested. Pike smiled fondly as he watched the younger children idolize the teenager. It had been at least a week since the children had been moved from their cave and into Starfleet base on Tarsus IV. Many of the officer's knew about J.T by now and they all respected him for his responsibility and perseverance at such a young age to save so many children when Starfleet had failed. They also knew to give him his distance and refrain from physical contact – he treated his kids with warmth but with anyone else he was ice cold and incredibly wary. J.T still refused to reveal his real name – even his kids didn't know his real name and those few who did were extremely tight lipped. Pike had been busy throughout the last few days with missions and reports and he planned to have a talk with J.T after lunch – he hadn't talked to him since the incident in the tent and he wanted to know as much about the boy as he could find out. He watched as the children dispersed and J.T conversed for a few minutes with those of alien race and language. Pike marveled at the boy's fluency of languages and his ease switching from Andorian to Vulcan at each question. Eventually, the rest of his kids split and J.T made his way towards the medical tent where he had been receiving various treatments for his malnourishment and lacerations – many which were still infected. Pike chewed his food slowly, he could visit J.T in the next few minutes – the boy would most likely be receiving medical attention until then and Pike wasn't fond of watching. He finished his food and began to walk in the direction J.T had taken earlier.

* * *

Pike whistled as he arrived at the entrance to the tent in a mock knock.

'Mind if I come in?' he asked.

J.T looked up where he had been reading on his bed. A few children occupied the remaining beds but were practically asleep and failed to stir at the noise caused by Pike. J.T motioned the Captain in and Pike gratefully entered the tent.

'Hey kid, how you doing?' he asked.

J.T looked back at him with a stoic face, betraying no emotion. He was so serious, matured beyond his years, mused Pike.

'Okay'.

Pike nodded. He took the seat next to J.T's bed, the kid moving minutely away from him as he came closer. Pike noticed the wary movement with sadness.

'Why did you trust me?' he blurted out.

J.T blinked. He stared at Pike for a long time. Pike sighed.

'Someone who's been through something as traumatic as you, with the responsibility of over a dozen children's lives would have trust issues – understandable. Why then, did you let any of us help your kids?'

J.T watched him again, calculating, deliberating – give him the truth? Lie? Remain silent? Pike assumed it would be the first; J.T was not someone to avoid a challenge – quite the opposite in fact, he always had a headstrong approach to everything and if he trusted Pike in the first place, what reason would he have to lie to him now?

'My kids,' he answered finally, 'I may have been stubborn but they were more important, they needed help from someone with more resources which wasn't me. I didn't know any of the other men you came with but I trusted you were from Starfleet'.

Pike was taken aback by the certainty of the statement. How did the kid know him? Suspicions aroused within him.

'How did you know I was from Starfleet?' he inquired.

J.T hesitated before he answered; he seemed to want to say something but was unable to. J.T frowned slightly and scrunched up his face slightly in concentration. His breath became labored, as if he were exerting himself physically. Pike leaned forward to scrutinize J.T, frowning slightly at his strained breaths.

'Hey kid, you ok?' he asked worryingly.

J.T's brow furrowed deeper and he slid his hand up to his throat, clutching it gently as if it were irritating him.

'I… I… it's… hard…,' he wheezed through breaths.

Pike's eyes widened in alarm and he gently shook J.T as the boy's eyes began to loose their focus.

'J.T,' he said urgently.

The boy was gasping now, one hand clutching his throat the other fisting the blankets on his bed. His breathing was becoming ragged and Pike was becoming seriously worried. Without warning, J.T leaned forward and continued his forward movement over and off the side of his bed. He landed on all fours as he gasped for breath. Pike yelped in alarm and fell to the floor beside the boy who had fallen off his arms and knees and was now slumped on his side. Pike gently rolled him over onto his back and clicked his fingers in front of his eyes. J.T didn't respond, his breathing becoming shallower as his hands fell slack by his sides and his eyes glazed over.

'Can't… can't…,' he rasped.

'Kid! Wake up!' Pike looked around the room desperately, one hand on the teenager's chest to monitor his breathing.

'Medical!' he hollered.

A blue-shirt barged into the tent. He took one look at the suffocating boy on the ground and grabbed a hypospray from his med-kit. He dodged a bed obstructing his path and jabbed the hypospray into the boy's neck. Both Pike and the officer relaxed visibly when the struggling boy grew still, his eyelids dropped and his head lolled as he sunk into unconsciousness. J.T's chest rose and fell at regular intervals – no longer desperate and shallow.

'Allergic reaction, probably from his medication – the hypo's countered the reaction but we've got to find out what he reacted to in the first place,' the doctor muttered.

Pike looked at the man who had just saved the teenager's life. He offered him his hand.

'Thank you'.

The man accepted the gesture and shook his head.

'Just doing my job,' he said humbly, 'we'll get him back on the bed and then I'll check his medications. Does he have a medical record I should know about?'

Pike sighed and shook his head.

'No one know whether he has a record or not – he won't give anyone his name'.

The doctor raised his eyebrow.

'So this is the teen who saved those kids. Better get him comfy then,' he suggested.

The two men lifted the boy up with ease – given his starved condition – and placed him onto his bed. Pike pulled the covers up and smiled as he watched J.T's peaceful face.

'You can stay if you want,' the doctor nodded his head towards the sleeping boy, 'I'm going to find out what he reacted to'.

Pike nodded gratefully and the man left the tent, taking note of J.T's patient ID.

* * *

Pike watched the sleeping boy, willing him to wake. It had been a few hours since his medical incident and Pike's head was swarming with worry. He shouldn't have however, as J.T's eyelids twitched; he was waking. Pike sat up straighter in his chair and watched as the teenager opened his eyes, sweeping them around his surroundings in sluggish movements. He turned his head and groggily faced Pike.

'Thanks,' he said simply, his voice thick with sleep.

'Not me,' Pike shook his head, 'A doctor came and gave you a hypospray'.

J.T scrunched up his face and Pike smiled inwardly; their feelings for hypospray's were mutual.

'I know your face,' J.T suddenly told him.

Pike hesitated at the unusual statement. Then his mind raced back to their previous conversation.

'You knew me. You knew I was with Starfleet too?'

J.T nodded lethargically. His eyelids slid close again, those blue eyes still imbedded in Pike's mind.

'I moved from Earth to Tarsus IV a few months before the massacre,' he said with his eyes closed.

Pike wondered if the boy really did know him. He'd have to if he trusted Pike enough to say _something_ about his real identity but refused to disclose so much as a name to the rest of Starfleet.

'So you knew Starfleet,' Pike said.

It was more a statement than a question. Earth was Starfleet's main base and everyone who lived on that planet knew exactly who and what Starfleet was. J.T nodded, confirming Pike's words.

'We had a mutual friend. I still remembered your face,' he said.

_I guess he doesn't want to tell me yet_ thought Pike _fair enough_.

'Do you have a family back on earth then, someone to go back to?' Pike asked.

J.T frowned, his eyes still closed.

'No,' he said flatly, 'I'd rather stay here than go back to my step-dad and my mum died while I was off-planet'.

Pike was stunned into silence. He'd hoped against hope that Winona Kirk hadn't died but he knew in his heart that it was true. No wonder the kid was so bitter, so strong – only people who'd gone through tragedy and risen above it were as tough as him. But J.T was right, Pike knew. No kid who'd gone through what he'd been through should go back to an abusive stepfather especially without any of his true parents.

Which meant that J.T was an orphan.

Pike felt an overwhelming parental urge but he was still hesitant. What is he was jumping to conclusions? What if J.T really wasn't a Kirk? Only one way to find out, he took a deep breath.

'If I can guess what J.T stands for, will you tell me who you really are?' he asked.

J.T smiled mischievously.

'I told the same thing to my kids, none of them has guessed it yet'.

Pike cocked his head, he rose from his chair – J.T would appreciate the space so that his mind could think.

'James Tiberius,' he said over his shoulder.

J.T's eyes snapped open, but Pike was already gone.


	5. Old Habits

Pike flipped through digital copies of the small mountain of reports on his PADD. He settled on the most recent one and diverted both his hands to holding the sandwich he had yet to eat. Luckily for the sandwich but unfortunately for his stomach, it seemed he would be yet to finish his meal as a scruffy blonde haired boy walked over and plopped himself in the seat opposite to Pike.

'Afternoon,' J.T greeted, leaning back in the seat so that it wobbled precariously on its hind legs, 'You never stayed around long enough to hear my answer the other day'.

Pike looked up from the sandwich and report.

'Well, it seems you've come to me to deliver it,' he observed.

J.T nodded, pulling out a dried strip of beef and absent-mindedly began to chew the leathery thing. Pike raised an eyebrow.

'How long has that been in your pocket?' he asked.

J.T shrugged.

'I don't know, a few days maybe,' he replied carelessly.

Pike rolled his eyes and let the matter go; it was expected that the survivors were all hoarders, especially when it came to food but most of the doctors had said that it was something they would grow out of as time passed.

'So, was I right?' he inquired.

J.T grinned mischievously but his eye's revealed that he was still assessing Pike, figuring out what he thought of him. His trust had grown tremendously after his allergic reaction however, and he was less callous to Pike and the doctor who had saved him.

'That depends, you gonna snitch on me?'

Pike shook his head very seriously.

'No'.

J.T stared at Pike, long and hard. His eyes bored into Pike's as his jaw worked to break down the tough consistency of the beef.

'Ok,' he said suddenly, 'yeah. I meant what I said though – don't tell anyone; There's no way I'm going back to my stepfather'.

Pike nodded. He couldn't blame J.T, he knew what Frank was like and he didn't approve. Funny, how he was still calling him J.T when he knew his real name. _Better get use to it I suppose_ thought Pike, _it's not like I can start calling him Jim in public – that would defeat the whole purpose of identity concealment._

'J.T! Look what I got!'

The pair swiveled their heads around as a small boy tottered towards them, running as fast as his little legs would allow. A tiny fist suffocated a stolen communicator, J.T sighed.

'Kev, I told you remember? It's awesome that you can get that without being caught but only when we were living in the cave. When we're with grown-ups, it's not a very good thing to do,' he gently chastised the child.

The small brown-haired boy looked up at J.T with wide eyes.

'But I thought it was good if we got stuff from bad people?'

'It is Kev, but the grown-ups with colorful shirts are good guys, remember?'

The child's mouth turned upside down and he downcast his eyes, the stolen communicator hanging limply by his side.

'Oh yeah, I'm sorry J.T. What do I do now?'

J.T smiled and knelt down next to the boy.

'It's not your fault, Kev. Everyone is trying their best to break old habits – even me. All you have to do is put the communicator back where you found it or give it to the person you took it from and say you're sorry'.

Two brown eye's rose to meet the piercing blue ones.

'Are you trying to break old habits too, J.T?'

Kev asked the question with so much astonishment in his voice that Pike had to hide a small smile. The children really saw J.T as their role model, they turned to him for advise and readily followed his instructions. The kid would make a good Captain one day, mused Pike. Just like his father.

'Of course, you see this?' J.T pulled out the half-mangled strip of beef, 'I've hoarded it; I didn't eat it when the nurse gave it to me but I put it in my pocket instead of leaving it for someone else. We all make mistakes Kev, don't worry about it'.

The small child grinned, his smile lighting up his face.

'Ok, I'll give it back,' he said.

J.T ruffled his hair.

'Thanks, Kev'.

Little Kevin turned his head towards Pike and held out the communicator towards the Captain.

'Sorry,' he said innocently.

Pike and J.T both hesitated neither had expected the stolen communicator to be Pike's. J.T stood and reclaimed his chair; he gave Kevin the thumbs up, which made the small boy smile even brighter. Pike tentatively accepted his communicator back.

'Thank you, Kevin,' he said to the beaming boy.

As soon as he returned the stolen item, little Kevin scurried as far away from Pike as his skinny legs would take him. Pike chuckled as he leaned into his chair, holding his communicator aloft as he scrutinized the small piece of technology.

'I had no idea it was missing,' he murmured, 'you taught him well'.

J.T shrugged.

'Sorry about your communicator,' he said, 'I showed them all how to steal when I found them otherwise we would've starved to death'.

Pike attached his communicator back to his belt, a wave of sadness and sympathy passed over him as he was reminded of the hardship J.T had been forced through.

'So, Starfleet's leaving in a few more days; we've swept the planet and everyone who originally resided on the planet has been accounted for,' Pike began, 'we'll be heading back for earth and relocating the survivors to their relatives or foster homes'.

J.T sat in silence for a while, pondering on his future.

'Do I get to see my kids again?' he asked.

'Well, you can ask for their contact details but I'm not allowed to disclose their information to anyone for safety and privacy purposes'.

Another pause.

'Will I have to go to a foster home?'

Pike had been dreading this moment, he sighed.

'If you don't want to go back to your stepfather then it's the only alternative, I'm sorry,' he finally admitted, 'but, given your current health condition most of the survivors – yourself included – will have to reside at a hospital until the doctors decide to release you'.

J.T nodded slowly.

'Ok,' he said.

Pike felt his heart breaking, he knew the foster system was no place for a teenager as traumatized as J.T; it would only damage him even more. He wondered what it would be like to be responsible for another human being. He could make that thought a reality – the opportunity was sitting less than a meter away.

He almost dared to think…


	6. Earth

Christopher Pike sat in the Captain's chair; monitoring his ship's status as well the stream of information he was receiving. They were less than an hour away from Earth and naturally, the crew were restless with anticipation. Pike's mind wondered to Jim Kirk. He had been making relatively good progress; his weight had increased so that he now looked considerably underweight instead of starved. The lacerations on his body were still prominent, though many had scarred and the number of red, unhealed wounds was few. The same could not be said for his personality however as he continued to treat anyone who wasn't Pike or his kids with stony coldness and wary suspicion. To J.T every, and any person was a potential enemy and therefore a threat regardless, who they were. Pike's thoughts were brought back to reality when his helmsman alerted him to the fact that they had been granted permission to make port.

They were about to return back to Earth and Pike knew if would also be the beginning of a new set of problems and questions for Jim Kirk. He hoped the youngster would be ok; he wouldn't be able to visit him for a while due to his responsibilities and duties as a Starfleet Lieutenant but after all the paperwork and meetings were done he'd visit the scruffy blonde, blue eyed boy.

* * *

The nurses smiled, the doctors smiled, the workers smiled, the adults smiled.

Everyone smiled.

J.T found it sickening.

How could they be so happy, when thousands of people had died? He wondered this as he was transported through a hospital with a group of other survivors – those who required medical had been split into small groups and admitted into different hospitals so as not to burden one facility with an overload of patients. Another perfume drenched nurse beamed as she herded the survivors into a large room full of beds neatly arranged in rows. _Home sweet home_ thought JT, _better than living with Frank anyway_. He was assigned to a bed and scanned with a tricorder to ensure that he didn't require urgent attention, then attached to an IV, which pumped him full of nutrients and other supplements that struggled to raise his pitifully low weight. JT leaned against the headboard of his bed, eyes constantly darting around his surroundings. Missing nothing.

There were roughly thirty beds in the room. J.T knew that their group had been split in half so it was safe to assume that sixty survivors had been relocated to the hospital he was in. He wondered whether any of them were his kids; he hoped so.

* * *

Leonard McCoy fidgeted nervously as he waited in the hallway with a handful of other volunteers. They had all offered their ranging medical skills to help the local hospital with a group of people who had recently arrived from Tarsus IV. As of last week, everyone on Earth knew of the massacre and famine that had raged that fateful planet and everybody was doing the best they could to support Starfleet and the survivors of Tarsus IV.

A Starfleet medical officer entered the hallway and lectured the volunteers of their specific instructions. Once he was finished and confirmed that everybody understood, he led them down the hallway and into a spacious room. McCoy's mouth opened slightly agape as he swept his gaze around the rows of hospital beds occupied by broken looking people – all who were school-aged children and teenagers. Most had physical injuries and all were extremely underweight. He estimated that there were at least four patients to every medically trained person in the room.

As numerous as the people were, the room was eerily quiet. Of course, there was the usual low hum of noise as few people conversed but not the typical roar you would expect from a crowded hospital ward.

* * *

Nyota Uhura followed the Starfleet Linguistics officer through the corridors of the medical clinic, bubbling with anticipation. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she had been asked to aid one of the hospitals sheltering the survivors of Tarsus IV. At first she was hesitant; she was still young, only a teenager really and she questioned the authenticity of the offer but once she was assured that she had been favored because of her young age as well as her exceptional talent for languages she accepted the opportunity to practice her skill – most of the survivors at this hospital were teenagers and Starfleet decided that it would be easier for the patients if they conversed with someone of similar age.

Language was a metaphorical border; it caused friction and confusion. Not all survivors from Tarsus IV spoke a common language, which had proven to be extremely problematic for Starfleet when they rescued the remaining inhabitants of the planet. Hence, Linguistics or Exolinguists were a crucial resource to Starfleet and required still, even on Earth.

'Uhura – yes?'

Nyota looked up at the Linguistics officer.

'My first name is Nyota, sir,' she corrected.

The officer nodded, understanding her statement.

'I hope you won't mind me referring to you as Uhura; in Starfleet we acknowledge each other by out last, not first names'.

Uhura quickly nodded.

'Of course, sir,' she replied hastily.

The officer's smile widened in gentle amusement. He glanced at the door they were standing beside and it suddenly grew serious.

'Ok, Uhura – here's what we need to do. Behind this door is a room full of patients suffering from injuries inflicted on Tarsus IV. We only need to make verbal contact with those without English as their native language. Be extremely careful of what you say – ensure that it is not a trigger or offensive in anyway to what these patients have endured. Do you understand what I am telling you?'

Uhura nodded again. Important instructions delivered – the officer's face softened once more.

'Good, we'll go inside now and you can converse with the patients – answer any of their questions and translate their statements or questions for the doctors and nurses'.

The linguistics officer entered the activation code and the door slid open. He gestured inwards and Uhura timidly entered the room, followed by her supervisor.

* * *

Spock trailed beside his mother, observing the environment of this new room he had just entered – more so a hall due to it's large size. Amanda Greyson had been temporarily employed by the local hospital to educate the children residing in this ward. Her son, Spock had been allowed entry to help his mother or socialize with the other children should he choose to do so. Normally, unauthorized teenagers weren't allowed to see the survivors of the Tarsus IV massacre but Spock was a Vulcan and so the hospital had easily agreed to Amanda's inquiry when Spock had expressed his interest of the human education system to his mother. He hoped to learn more of the emotional race the other Vulcan's teased him of and the logical age group to observe were adolescents – the most emotional life stage of a human being – or so his research suggested.

'Mummy, look! He's got pointy ears!'

A wide-eyed toddler tugged on the elbow of his mother's sleeve. His embarrassed parent was quick to hush her child and throw a sympathetic expression to Spock's mother. It was ironic; on Vulcan he was shunted for his human half but on earth, his Vulcan side was his social downfall.


	7. Emotional Responses

Bones glanced up from the patient list on his PADD, having located the name adjacent to the patient ID paired with the hospital bed in front of him. Two, piercing blue eyes drilled into him as McCoy met the patient's eyes.

'J.T...?' he asked the scruffy blonde teenager uncertainly; there was no last name provided and McCoy was unsure of how to address the patient.

The boy continued his disconcerting stare and McCoy began to feel uncomfortable under the stranger's scrutiny. His face remained emotionless and his body stock still, yet a skilled observer would have noticed these actions as the signs of a fighter. Closer observation would have revealed that the teenager's muscles were actually coiled; his body taunt, easily able to spring into action at a moments notice. His face – although expressionless, triggered a sixth sense warning in McCoy's head. Eyes locked in J.T's, McCoy could make out the boy's body in his peripheral vision; it was covered in scars and painfully thin. His hand showed signs of a tardily healed break and scarred wrists hinted that they had been previously restrained.

'My name is Leonard McCoy,' McCoy offered.

Still, the teenager was unresponsive, his eyes triggering danger klaxons in McCoy's head.

'Uh... I'm going to change your medication now,' McCoy continued, indicting to the empty IV.

The teenager kept his eyes trained on McCoy as he approached the medical equipment. When McCoy came within a meter of the boy, his face morphed into an animalistic snarl.

'Get back,' he growled.

McCoy froze; he raised his hands in surrender.

'It's Ok; I don't need to make physical contact with you, I only need to attend to your IV medication,' he explained carefully and clearly.

When the teenager offered no further protest, McCoy cautiously and quickly changed the patient's medication. J.T watched his every move, poised to strike should the volunteer threaten him. Task completed, McCoy quickly backed away from the hospital bed and hurried to another patient who would hopefully be less of a threat to his life. J.T's eyes followed him as he left. McCoy kept his head down as he changed the next patients IV medication. A nearby scoff caused him to glance up from the equipment. A fellow volunteer regarded McCoy with amusement.

'He giving you a hard time, eh?' he jerked his head towards J.T.

McCoy shrugged; even with a room full of strangers, he had a reputation to uphold.

'He's just guarded – most of the patients are,' he said easily.

The volunteer scoffed again.

'Whatever man, that kid is the worst though – real nasty to anyone who gets closer than a meter. Hard to believe he's the teen who saved a dozen or so kids. Boss reckons he was tortured by Kodos – you've you seen his scars, yeah? But he refuses to tell Starfleet his name let alone his identity'.

McCoy allowed himself a quick glance at the teenager he had attended before returning his eyes back to his current patient, no wonder J.T hadn't had any conclusive information on his hospital report. McCoy felt sympathetic for the teenager who had treated him so coldly; it wasn't his fault he had turned out so bitter – it was the grueling ordeal he had experienced, the lives of so many children depending on you for their survival. He sighed. What had the world come to?

* * *

Spock watched as his mother drifted to half a dozen beds containing children of similar ages. Obediently, they followed her outside for their afternoon lesson. A young linguistic was invited, as some of the teenagers were not human. Spock trailed behind the group as they walked into a deserted, sunny courtyard. He analyzed the students; they were all male, they were all in their teens and all had expressions of absolute boredom.

Amanda Greyson seated herself on the grass and the teenagers followed suit, facing her as she prepared to begin her lesson. They were all accustomed to her routine and Vulcan son; no one asked useless questions anymore or treated her with distrusting behavior – even J.T, although he kept his distance from the other teenagers and Amanda Greyson. The linguistic sat slightly apart from the group as she was yet to be needed.

'Ok boys, today we'll continue looking at the gravitational lensing and the binary star system to discuss how we would locate a black hole in...'

Most of the teenagers began to nap in the warm, afternoon sun. Spock regarded the blonde haired boy at the back of the group with interest. He too, appeared tiresome but with knowledge – not with boredom. Spock had been observing the human for his last few lessons. He had answered his mother's questions and even corrected her teachings with casual intelligence, though he seemed to pay no heed to her lessons. He was an outsider of the six other boys in his age group, especially because of his icy personality and abnormal number of scars – three Andorian boys had already formed an alliance more so out of the remaining survival instinct that was still active from their recent experience and the fact that they were the only patients of their race residing at this hospital.

His mother abandoned the teenagers briefly to retrieve excess teaching materials and he was instantly confronted without the paternal defense of his mother protecting him.

'Well look who it is – another emotionless Vulcan. What d'you think you're doing here? It's obvious you don't feel bad for any of us. You should go back where you came from! Run off to Vulcan with the other robots'.

Spock regarded the lead Andorian curiously – he could never understand the logic in beginning a senseless argument.

'You're rebuke is incorrect as I am half-human. I cannot run to Vulcan since it is physically impossible and also hypocritical to yourself as Earth is not your native home either'.

Spock's logical reasoning only caused the Andorian to grow angrier and his blue face contorted in rage.

'Don't know how to shut your mouth do we scum? Blind too are you? I guess you haven't noticed my two friends then. Think you can talk back to me now smartass?'

'I am perfectly capable of replying to your taunts. The fact that I am looking directly at you should have already dispelled any doubt you may have about my vision although in ev-'.

_Idiot_, thought J.T as he rose from his seating position to match the height of the two alien races that had already stood. He stepped in between the two quarreling – or in the Vulcan's case, informing – groups as the lead Andorian crouched slightly to strengthen the tackle he was about to inflict upon the Vulcan.

'Give it up, Gareb,' he snapped at the bigger boy.

Gareb P'Trel glared at the skinny boy defending the Vulcan boy. His hatred for the blue-eyed human was even more so stronger as he had addressed Gareb in his native language – Andorian.

'Get out of my way, human – this fight is for aliens, not you're degraded species,' he sneered.

Uhura slowly stood up, her brow furrowing as her mind raced to decipher the conversation.

'If I'm so _degraded_, then why don't you fight me instead of the Vulcan?'

'Why don't I just squish you _and_ the Vulcan?'

'You can try,' J.T snarled, his instincts taking over from the time he had protected his kids on Tarsus IV, 'but you'll have to get past me first'.


	8. Defend

**(Starsinger): thankyou for pointing out my colour mistake in the previous chapter. I have no idea what pocessed me to mix up the skin colour of an Andorian**

* * *

Uhura's eyes widened as she realized the inevitable conclusion to the argument and she opened her mouth to offer an alternative. Before she could however, the Andorian lunged forward. The other teenagers watching the teenagers the argument with mild interest scrambled backwards on instinct – moving away from the threat and danger.

J.T dogged Gareb's first attack as the alien lunged into empty air. Growling, the Andorian pivoted and executed a lightning fast overhand, forcing J.T to duck. Gareb cackled in delight.

'Stupid, stupid boy,' he sneered before turning mockingly to face Spock, 'make sure you watching Vulcan – this is what we do to people who-'.

Spock would never know how the Andorian intended to end his remark because Gareb's vocal chords leaped a decade of octaves as J.T powerfully rammed his kneecap into the Andorian's blue testicles.

Whump!

'And that's what happens to bullies,' J.T spat out in Andorian.

Gareb collapsed onto the ground, doubling over in a fetus position to protect his painful injury. He squealed maliciously and glared upwards at the smaller boy who now towered over his adversary. Galvanized by a deathly glare from their leader, Gareb's two accomplices snarled in defiance and advanced towards J.T. One had an ugly scar marring his face and the other was half-blinded by an eye-patch. J.T acknowledged the new threat and shifted his weight, balancing on the balls of his feet. He briefly scanned his new opponents with an expert eye; both were taller and stronger thanks to their alien physique but J.T was faster.

And smarter.

He estimated the distance between himself and the aliens. Then, satisfied he had sufficient runway, he charged.

Eyepatch baulked slightly at the sight of a scrawny teenage boy sprinting directly towards him but Scarface grinned with anticipation. He crouched slightly, ready to receive and entrap the enemy. _I've got you now, you little sucker_.

J.T allowed himself a devious smile when he saw the wide gap between Scarface's legs and locked onto the location. With a meter to spare, he dived forwards and tucked himself into a ball, rolling like an armadillo under the short tunnel of flesh. With his adversary's back now to him, J.T twisted his lower body and kicked his leg into the back of the closest knee his shin could find. Scarface's leg was forcibly shoved forwards and he buckled under weight his leg no longer supported. _Everybody knows, when the wall of a tunnel falls, the rest of it follows._ With the more confident of the two Andorians temporarily incapacitated, J.T swiftly advanced on his remaining opponent before Scarface could recover from his tumble.

Eyepatch was a good head taller than J.T thanks to his growth stunt as a result from starvation so the teenager quickly dismissed attacking the alien with his fists. His best hope would be to attempt an assault on the Andorian with the strongest part of his body – his elbow. Grasping his fist he rammed the tip of his elbow towards Eyepatch's gut, using the strength of his second arm to push the fist of his first arm and double it's force. Amazingly, spurred by adrenaline, Eyepath turned his body sideways with microseconds to spare and J.T's eblow whistled over its intended target area. J.T swore under his breath as the momentum of his attack caused him to loose balance and teeter slightly. The Andorian realized J.T's fault as well and hastily countered with a right hook that struck the side of J.T's face, causing the teenager to reel even more. If it weren't for inertia, J.T would have lost his footing moves ago.

Blood seeped from the bloody interior of his cheek and he spat it out, tarnishing the grass beneath him. He angrily started towards the Andorian but sensed movement from behind him. It was instinct that saved him.

Pivoting, he spun on his heel as Scarface lurched towards him, thrusting his arm forward in a collision course for the teenager's nose. J.T deftly swiveled his upper body sideways using his hips and grabbed the Andorian's arm. Using it as a makeshift ladder he shoved his foot up against Scarface's knee and used the leverage it provided to haul himself upwards, pushing downwards on the alien's outstretched arm at the same time and scampering up the Andorian's body in a matter of seconds. Scarface barely had time to comprehend what had happened before J.T was straddling his shoulders, gripping his neck with a vice-like grip as the Andorian staggered around the lawn.

Eye-patch hissed in frustration as he lumbered around his flailing friend, unable to attain a clear shot at the teenager sitting bizarrely atop his comrade. Noting that Eye-patch was now within range, J.T jackknifed. Unwillingly, Scarface's torso was forced to emulate the movement of his shoulders and he lost his balance, crashing into his comrade. J.T kicked off the Andorian's shoulders and tucked himself in a ball to absorb the shock of the fall. He tumbled forwards and twisted his body, spinning sideways before rolling onto his feet. He abandoned the thought of rising and instead observed the tangle of limbs from a defensive crouching position.

The sound of running feet alerted him to an approaching presence. He jerked his head towards the rhythmic noise, ready for this new threat and possible attack.

* * *

Amanda Greyson returned to the spot she'd been teaching at just in time to witness Gareb trigger the fight. The young linguist who had accompanied her earlier gave her a pointed look and a silent agreement passed between them. The teenagers had all lived through hell not too long ago and it would be absolutely futile to try and break them apart, lest they injure themselves in the process; the best course of action would be to acquire someone more resourceful in such a situation. Amanda stayed behind to protect her son and ensure that the fighting didn't turn life threatening while Uhura left to search for anyone with a phaser. Sprinting to the hospital ward, Uhura had spotted Christopher Pike strolling through the doors; he was a Starfleet lieutenant, most likely trained in combat and a more preferable candidate than the timid doctors and nurses who probably hadn't seen a fight in their life let alone know what to do in such a situation. Her assumption was proved correct as lieutenant Pike readily agreed to her request and followed her to the hospital's makeshift classroom area. When the pair finally rounded the corner they were met with a blonde-haired boy crouching defensively as he watched two Andorian's attempt to untangle themselves. A third Andorian was lying on the ground in agony, clutching his groin while a young Vulcan and his human mother stood to the side.

'Boys! What do you think you're doing?' Pike demanded, striding towards them intimidatingly.

When the four fighters stubbornly refused to answer, he turned to the only boy who didn't appear to be grappling.

'You – the Vulcan, what happened here?'

'The three Andorians were attempting to evoke an emotional response from me through verbal taunts. The human patient argued with their leader which evoked him into attacking'.

'He was going to hurt the Vulcan!' J.T protested, 'I only stood up for him'.

Pike scowled at the four survivors. Inwardly however, his silently approved J.T's actions – even through he shouldn't have provoked the Andorian in the first place; he'd done it to protect a stranger. With a pang of sadness, Pike realized that J.T had been doing this for months – protecting his kids from Kodos and taking the assault meant for them upon himself.

'I can justify the boy's explanation,' interjected Uhura.

Pike nodded slowly; he expected as much.

'I don't want to hear about this again – got it?' he told the boys, the tone of his voice implying that his question wasn't

All four of them nodded sullenly although J.T and Gareb glowered at each other in resentment. Pike sighed, partly in frustration but mainly in relief.

'Good to hear it,' he muttered.


	9. The Significance of Words

*Conversations in Vulcan are followed by the English translation – Sorry if I incorrectly translate from English to Vulcan; I'm using a Vulcan dictionary to translate each word so it's likely that I've misused some of the words.

[Break]

'Why did you do it?'

J.T turned and glared at the older man. He and Pike had been slowly walking back to the hospital ward and so far, the journey had been silent.

'You know why,' he accused.

'I didn't mean the motive. I was talking about the fight'.

'The fight was a result of the motive'.

'But there were other results you could have chosen'.

'Such as?'

'Reasoning'.

'You don't reason with survivors. If we did that on Tarsus, Starfleet would've never have to come in the first place'.

Pike didn't know how to reply to the statement so he kept silent. After all, J.T was right – lack of communication and desperation had led to the other survivors being as much of a threat to each other as the soldiers had been.

Soon, the pair reached the ward and Pike opened the door, waiting for J.T to walk inside before entering himself.

'You should get a doctor to check that out,' Pike indicated meaningfully at J.T's bloody face.

'I'm already in a hospital,' he muttered and left for his designated bed.

Pike sighed. The survivors of the massacre were all stubborn when it came to receiving help from a third party. He considered staying with J.T – the boy would be lonely otherwise – but he wasn't sure if the teenager would appreciate such a gesture. His insistent communicator made the decision for him and he made his way to the exit, resolving to return later in the evening.

[Break]

Uhura walked aimlessly around the hospital ward. Her supervisor had instructed her to converse with the other teenagers her age but he'd forgotten to mention how tenuous it was to even get within a meter of them. It was harder to talk to teenagers. However, if the patients had been adults or young children they would've been more perceptible to strangers. They wouldn't be warm and welcoming but at least they wouldn't be as wary or distrustful. Younger children were reliable on the safety and instruction of those bigger and older than them and adults had more experience with the world – they knew who and what Starfleet was and why it would be in their best interests to cooperate with them. Teenagers however, had an independent craving and were extremely skilled at holding grudges – especially when things did not go the way they had planned.

'Na'shayas'. *_Greetings*_

Uhura twisted her head towards the voice that was speaking in Vulcan. Chances were, it was originating from a Vulcan survivor – Vulcan's were emotionless and more likely to talk to her without lashing out. Her gaze rotated until she spotted the Vulcan boy who had been threatened during a class. He was standing motionless at the foot of a hospital bed. Moving closer, Uhura's curiosity was aroused as she saw the blonde haired boy who had protected the Vulcan.

'Uh… tonk'peh?' _*Uh… hi?*_

'T'nash-veh ahm qual Spock _*My name is Spock*_

'J.T'

'Mat m'aih taran ish-du korsau nash kwi' au rehkuh fai'ei au vesh' dotoran dash-tor veh. Ni ,veh aitlu-tor sadvun-tor itaren-tor du'. _*My mother told me that you protected me today from the three boys because they were planning to hurt me. Hence, I would like to extend my gratefulness to you*_

'No problem'. *rai wat*

The two continued their conversation in Vulcan.

'I have difficulty familiarizing myself with colloquial language but would I be correct to assume that the phrase you just used implies that you have accepted my gratefulness?'

J.T laughed.

'Yes, it does. You know, I had a friend on Tarsus who was Vulcan. You remind me a lot of him – although after a few weeks living together he familiarized himself with what he considered illogical terms'.

'I hope to acquire the same skill'.

'So… _Spock_… What do you hope to learn by accompanying your mother's classes?'

'I wish to observe the emotional nature of other species – mainly, humans'.

'So… does that mean you're not emotional? I mean, you're mother's human so I thought that you might be able to express emotion.'

'You're prediction is correct – I am capable, although rarely express human emotion. The fact that I can is the very reason for my presence on Earth; I am curious of my differences from the Vulcan species'.

'Well… you seem pretty Vulcan to me. If I didn't know your mother was human I'd have though you were full Vulcan'.

'Your observation is interesting and appreciative'.

Uhura pretended to read a blank PADD screen as Spock's mother walked towards the hospital bed to retrieve her son.

'Spock! I need to go home now to prepare for tomorrow's lesson,' she announced.

'Of course mother, Goodbye J.T – live long and prosper.'

Amanda Greyson looked curiously at the Vulcan-speaking teenager as he nodded in acknowledgment to her son but decided not to pry. Amanda herded her son towards the door and J.T reached for the PADD lying by his feet. Uhura watched as he opened a database before slowly making her way over to the boy's hospital bed.

'Hello,' she said softly, ensuring that she stood at least a meter away from the hospital bed.

J.T kept his head bowed over the PADD screen. He missed nothing and had long since predicted that the young linguist would approach him after his conversation with Spock.

'Was there any reason why you listen to other people's conversations?' he asked, his tone neutral.

Uhura hesitated. She thought her presence had gone unknown… apparently not.

'My apologies for eavesdropping,' she replied genuinely, 'I was just surprised to hear a human speak Vulcan'.

'Don't know what you found interesting about it – you're obviously a linguist so you can speak Vulcan yourself'.

Uhura inclined her head slightly.

'That is true… but my guess is that _you_ probably aren't a linguist which is curious as I heard you speak Andorian this morning'.

The boy finally looked up from the PADD screen, a blank expression on his face.

'And you want to know where I learnt other languages,' he replied.

It wasn't really a question, but a statement. Uhura nodded.

J.T looked at her long and hard, assessing whether to trust her or not. He was wary of disclosing his past life to her but she wasn't an adult – rather, roughly the same age as J.T.

'I can teach you other dialects if you wish,' she offered.

J.T's mouth turned up slightly and he nodded in acceptance. The boredom of residing in the hospital was degrading his brain cells and the incompetent PADD they had given him did little to challenge his genius level mind.

'Hoshi Sato,' he told her, 'I'm J.T by the way, but you already know that'.

'Courtesy of my eavesdropping,' Uhura guiltily agreed, 'you can call me Uhura. Where you really taught by Hoshi Sato? The Starfleet officer who invented the linguacode?' she asked eagerly.

Amoungst the linguist community, Hoshi Sato was their ultimate inspiration – especially for women. J.T smiled sadly.

'She was pretty smart, aye?' he murmured.

Uhura frowned slightly.

'Was?' she questioned.

J.T raised an eyebrow.

'You haven't been on the news feeds lately, have you?' he asked.

Uhura slowly shook her head, deep in thought as she tried to process his words.

'Uhura… I didn't meet Hoshi on Earth,' J.T told her slowly, 'I met her on Tarsus'.

'So…' Uhura began, 'what happened to her?'

'She was killed in the massacre,' J.T replied softly.

'Oh…'

Sorrow washed over Uhura and she stood there in silence for a while.

'What was she like,' Uhura asked timidly.

'She was a great person to be around. She could talk for hours on end – switching through a dozen different languages at a time – and I'd just sit there, soaking it in. She was always so patient too – never got sick of me. I use to beg her to teach me more and she'd laugh and invite me into her house. I learnt more from her than I ever learnt from any of the teachers at school – and not just information. She was a great teacher of character too'.

Uhura nodded.

'I'm sorry for your loss'.

The corner of J.T's mouth was tugged upwards, but his smile was a sad one.

'She wasn't my only loss – just my first'.

He spoke so softly; she almost didn't hear what he had said. But when she deciphered his words, she felt a great heaviness settle on her heart. The reality of the suffering of the survivors hit her at warp speed. She yearned to comfort J.T but she knew there was nothing she could do to lessen his burden.

A noticeable hand gesture from her supervisor on the other side of the ward alerted her to the time and she gave him a subtle nod.

'J.T,' she waited until she had his attention, 'I'm sorry but I have to go now, I'll see you next week'.

She smiled and waved goodbye as she turned to leave. J.T returned the smile albeit smaller and nodded his head.

'Bye,' he said, with a sense of finality to his tone.

Uhura sensed the greeting held a different meaning for him.


	10. Enemies

Departing from the hospital where she had been spending the past few months, Nyota Uhura left in – once again – a mixture of stunned awe. J.T's self-describing metaphor had been accurate – he really did absorb her teachings like a sponge. Heck, he even learnt new languages as fast as her – no wonder Hoshi Sato had gladly taught him. After all, who wouldn't enjoy educating a genius mind? Especially one that was constantly eager to learn – unlike the normal temperament of a teenager.

It was a pity, that he was survivor. Like so many other teenagers residing in the ward, he maintained a burning hatred towards Starfleet for their tardiness. If it weren't for his opinionated character, Starfleet Academy would be an ideal future for him.

* * *

'Oi! Doc!'

A dark-haired boy slouched lazily on his hospital bed, neglecting to remember descent etiquette as he launched a glob of spit from his mouth and lobbed it against McCoy's neck. The doctor halted his quiet pacing and spun on his heel, mouth open – ready to reprimand whoever had displayed such vileness. However, when he spotted the perpetrator he instantly clamped his jaw shut. It was forbidden for the medical volunteers to verbally assault survivors of the Tarsus IV massacre – even a single word used incorrectly could mentally damage the most sensitive patients and as such, Starfleet had enforced the rule amongst the hospitals.

The patient who had yelled and spat arrogantly knew the rule well, for his mouth twisted into a cunning smile. He had been using the limitations of the medical volunteers to his advantage, hoping to manipulate them into his personal servants.

'Me' leg's gone gammy again – give us some meds will ya?'

McCoy breathed in deeply to control his irritation at the patient's whiny behavior. This time, there was no need to check the patient's I.D number for Stanley Harge was a regular nuisance to all medical staff alike and a patient's list was not needed to match the name to his face.

'I've already explained to you before, Stanley – I can't administer drugs if your body doesn't require them'.

Stanley's face contorted in rage and his eyes glared murderously into McCoy's.

'Whaddaya sayin' Doc? That I'm lyin'!? Gonna make me sit here in pain or are ya gonna give me what I want?'

McCoy sighed at the idle threat. He was used to being verbally assaulted by the patients and hardly any of them ever made good on their words – especially Stanley.

A quick glance up at the monitor next to Stanley's hospital bed confirmed that his heart rate and breathing were functioning at a normal level – obviously no sign that the patient was in pain which meant that yes, Stanley had been lying. Unfortunately, to accuse a patient of such a crime – even if it was true – would lead to McCoy being seriously reprimanded for his 'poor choice of words'. But there was no way McCoy was giving this kid any more medication than he needed – the consequences would be career shattering should he do so.

'Stanley,' he began, attempting to emulate a reasoning tone, 'I can't give you painkillers or I'll risk damaging your liver. If you're body doesn't need them then you'll only get sicker than you already are'.

Stanley's face was slowly turning red… and then purple. The monitor beside his bed now indicated an increase in heart rate but from his facial expression, it was obviously an emotional response. McCoy took an involuntary step backwards as Stanley pushed himself upwards so that he was sitting straighter on the bed, his feet planted on the sheets.

'Didn't ya hear me right, Doc? I said I WANT MORE DRUGS! Ya think you can sit there and not give me what I want, eh? THEN I'LL BLOODY GET IT MYSELF!'

His voice rose until he was yelling at the top of his lungs, the veins on his neck and temple jutting out as his anger boiled over.

'Now… just look here,' McCoy raised his hands slowly in a sigh of peace as Stanley's rage turned animalistic.

'DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!' Stanley screamed.

Without warning, he suddenly launched himself off the bed. Stanley twisted himself in mid-air so that his hand was able to reach into his pants and pull out a knife he had kept hidden for the past few days. Landing, he tucked himself into a ball, the blade gripped sideways so that it didn't pose a threat to himself as he rolled along the floor. Nearby medical staff yelled demands for security as Stanley raised himself from his crouch and advanced on McCoy.

'Stanley…' McCoy said warningly, although he was powerless to stop his feeling of utter terror leak into his voice.

'SHUT UP!' Stanley screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, 'You don't give me meds – I get them MYSELF!'

In an instant, his hand was raised above his head, blade gleaming dully in the artificial lights overhead.

McCoy closed his eyes. _This is it, I'm going to die doing the work I love_ he thought bitterly. He didn't bother fleeing or even moving, his body was already in shock as a result of fear and he knew that his mind had caused temporary paralysis to his limbs. Even it he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to move a muscle.

Clang!

McCoy cracked his eyelids open in time to witness the dagger forcibly wrenched from Stanley's grip by a metallic blur. In unison, their heads followed the path of the metal projectiles. Eventually, the objects skidded to a halt and both men were left looking at two diverse knives – one slightly dented and the other with a blunted tip. Instantly, McCoy's brain made the connection – someone must have thrown the dagger at Stanley's weapon with such force that it had knocked it out of his hand.

The thrower must have been incredibly skilled to be able to hit their target without harming Stanley's hand – especially using something as poorly balanced as what appeared to be a knife created for cooking purposes.

McCoy twisted his head around in the direction the weapon had been thrown from. His eyes scanned the small crowd of medical and security personnel until he spotted a small, blonde haired boy struggling on the floor as he was restrained with handcuffs.

'Get off me!'

Stanley resorted to verbal abuse as he too was forced into restraints.

'Hey!' McCoy yelled as J.T was hauled off the ground, 'that kid just saved my life!'

He started after the blonde haired boy as he was escorted away but a security officer stopped him.

'Sir, I'm sorry but you can't follow him'.

'Why not? Why are you arresting him in the first place? He saved my life, dammit!'

'He was in procession of a harmful weapon,' the security officer informed him, 'and he isn't being arrested – merely restricted to his bed until we can determine he is fit for release'.

McCoy huffed and eyed the swearing teenager over the security officer's shoulder. He was indeed, being dragged to the general direction of his hospital bed and not the ward exit.

'When can I see him?' he demanded.

'As soon as we have determined that he is securely restrained and not in procession of any other weapons,' the security officer informed him.

McCoy nodded.

'I'll wait, then,' he resolved.

* * *

McCoy tentatively approached J.T's bed. The teenager was huddled atop the mattress; his legs dawn up to his chest and his face buried between his knees. One arm wrapped around his legs whilst the other was spread out, pulled towards the side of his bed by his cuffed wrist.

McCoy's heart dropped.

He had almost been killed because he had refused to act in such a way that could have mentally damaged a patient in accordance to Starfleet's rules. And here they were, obviously causing significant mental trauma to this patient – hypocrites. McCoy had never seen J.T so vulnerable looking – normally the teenager acted completely the opposite. _Being restrained must bring back terrible memories for him thought _McCoy, _the other med volunteers are right – he was probably held prisoner by Kodos_.

'J.T,' he said softly, kindly.

Instantly, the teenager was alert. He jerked his head up and quickly identified the danger – or so he thought. It was hard to tell these days; to him, everyone was the enemy. Then he recognized the person who had spoken and relaxed marginally. The medical volunteer was still a potential danger but he would be less likely to pose a threat to J.T after he had saved the man's life.

'I want to thank you for saving my life… that was quite a throw kid,' McCoy said seriously.

'Thanks,' muttered J.T carelessly.

McCoy stood there awkwardly, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

'I'm sorry… for what happened to you,' McCoy said.

Inwardly, J.T sighed in exasperation. That was the problem with adults – you save their lives and they have to nag you with their sympathy. What was wrong with a simple thank you and then leaving him in peace?

'Nothing you could've done,' J.T replied flatly.

'I talked to the Chief Medical Officer stationed here and he's agreed to allow you an earlier discharge'.

J.T scrutinized the medic's voice.

Cautious yet kind – genuinely kind – unlike the manipulative compassion of Kodos. In that moment, J.T trusted the medical volunteer. Not completely – not as much as he trusted Pike – but enough.

He locked eyes with McCoy but it wasn't in dominance, it was in gratitude.

'Thanks,' he said and this time, he really meant it.


	11. Debt

**NOTE: I bumped up Christine Chapel's age by about 10 years so that she matches McCoy's age of 19 years (since it's virtually impossible that she'd be accepted as a medical volunteer at 9 years old)**

* * *

J.T huffed in annoyance as his eyes bored into the PADD screen resting on his lap. Starfleet had refused to disclose any information about his kids and he was fed up with waiting. Unfortunately, as good as hacking skills were, this standard issue PADD processed and moved at a snail's pace.

'Final medical – up you get'.

J.T looked up from the PADD, making no move to conceal the screen – it would only arouse suspicion of illegal activities. McCoy was standing at the foot of his bed so there was no possibility that he could see what was behind J.T's screen – if he had seen what was on the screen, he'd be alerting J.T or someone else to the fact, anyway.

Either way, if Starfleet Medical had found out about his hacking they hadn't done anything to hinder his efforts so far – unless, of course, you counted the incompetent PADD they had given him.

J.T blanked out the PADD screen and tossed it under the pillow.

'If I pass does that mean I can go?' he asked as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and followed McCoy's retreating back.

'If you pass,' McCoy agreed.

* * *

Christopher Pike walked into the hospital ward, his eyes automatically darting to the hospital bed J.T had been spending most of his time upon. He frowned slightly as he found it empty and scanned the interior for a familiar blonde-haired boy. A medical volunteer noticed his lost appearance and clip-clopped over to the Starfleet lieutenant.

'Can I help you, sir?' she asked.

Pike switched his attention to the blonde haired woman who had approached him.

'Ah, yes, nurse…?'

'Chapel, Christine Chapel,' the young woman replied, smiling warmly, 'but I'm not a nurse – I'm actually one of the medical volunteers. If you would like me to show you to one of the medical staff I would be more than happy to do so?'

'Oh, no,' Pike quickly said, 'no, I don't need to speak to a doctor. I was just wondering if you could direct me to the whereabouts of a patient'.

Christine Chapel nodded expectantly. In a ward crammed with a relatively large number of people, the chances that this volunteer knew where J.T was, was virtually non-existent. Still, there was no harm in trying.

'His name is J.T… well his nickname, anyway but that's what he goes by'.

Instantly, the young woman's eyes widened in recognition.

'Oh! Yes, J.T. I know him… well, everyone does really,' she motioned for the lieutenant to follow her, 'I'll take you to him – he's filling out his discharge forms now… unless you're his guardian? In which case you should be filling them out instead…' the volunteer finished uncertainly.

Pike smiled and shook his head.

'No, I'm more of a friend,' he explained, 'although I'm curious… what were you referring to when you said that everyone knows J.T?'

Christine spared him an incredulous look over her shoulder as she led him past row's of anti-grav beds and hospital staff.

'Have you watched the media lately?' she asked.

'Haven't really gotten the time – what with all the reports needed after the Tarsus IV incident'.

Christine bobbed her head up and down in understanding.

'Oh, of course,' she agreed, 'well, J.T has always been the hostile type – he's the most guarded of the survivors, always asking about his kids. After a while the usual gossip went around and apparently he's the teenager who saved a group of children on T-IV. According to the news feeds the public seems to agree as well. It's not that big of a headline though – more of an interest for the medical staff and volunteers'.

Christine ended her explanation as they reached a doctor and blonde-haired teenager. Christine smiled and Pike nodded his thanks before the volunteer walked off to attend to her scheduled duties.

The doctor looked up as Pike approached the pair.

'Good morning, sir – may I help you?' he asked.

'Morning,' Pike smiled his greeting to the doctor, 'I've come to visit this patient,'

He inclined his head to J.T who had twisted his head around at the sound of Pike's voice. Upon recognition, J.T's face broke out into a wide grin.

'Hey Chris, come to say hello?' he asked cheerily.

The doctor beside him appeared stunned at the smile on J.T's normally hostile face. He spared a curious look at Pike who shrugged modestly.

'Yeah, kid. Although I hear that you're being discharged?' by the end of the sentence he had directed the question to the doctor.

'Yes, sir he just passed his final medical a few minutes ago'.

Pike guessed the respect in the doctor's voice was not all to do with his Starfleet uniform; J.T's attitude towards the medical staff must've been just as bad as it'd been in the forest – worst probably, since he didn't have his kids to rein him in.

'That was fast,' mused Pike.

'Well, about a fortnight ago one of the volunteers who was working here was attacked by another patient – J.T saved his life and the volunteer was able to convince the CMO to allow J.T an early discharge,' the doctor explained.

Pike raised his eyebrow and swiveled his head around to direct the expression towards J.T. The teenager grinned and winked at the lieutenant.

'So… are you his legal guardian?' asked the doctor.

Pike shook his head.

'I'm a friend,' he merely stated.

The doctor nodded, his attention distracted by a harmless but noisy brawl in the back of the ward.

'Sorry, if you would please excuse me I'll be back in a minute – just have to check up on _that_ before it get's any worse. I'll leave you two here to speak until I get back,' he nodded meaningfully towards the brawl and Pike nodded his consent.

J.T glanced up briefly from the PADD as the doctor left but just as quickly glued his eyes to the screen once more.

'So, where do you plan to live once you're out?' asked Pike.

'On the streets,' J.T replied automatically, as if he had already planned his future there.

Pike frowned slightly. Living on the streets would be a walk in the park for J.T after all he had gone through on Tarsus IV, but that was the exact reason why he deserved better.

'Stay at my place,' Pike blurted out.

He acted on impulse, but was genuinely happy he'd suggested it. J.T paused, his hand hovering around the PADD screen as he turned his head so that he could see Pike in his peripheral vision.

'No, thanks,' he replied belatedly.

'Why not?' inquired Pike.

J.T sighed.

'Because then I'd owe you – and once you're in someone's debt, you'll never be able to repay it,' he said flatly.

'Learn that from Kodos?' Pike asked quietly.

J.T turned completely to face Pike. He drilled his gaze into the lieutenant's eyes and projected absolute ferocity. His eyes were stone cold; it's unique shade of blue intensifying from J.T's lethal state. _If looks could kill…_ thought Pike.

'I don't want to talk about it'.

J.T's tone was deadly – his face betraying no hint to the current emotional battle raging internally.

'You can live for free,' Pike said seriously, refusing to avert his eyes.

J.T scrutinized the lieutenant, searching for the barest sign of deception.

'Why would you do that?' he finally asked.

'Because, I care about what happens to you,' Pike said quietly.

J.T's mask slowly dissipated and he nodded, gratitude radiating from the simple action.

'Thanks'.

* * *

**Won't be posting for another week and a half - going overseas so there won't be much time to write let alone internet to go on fanfic. Sorry!**


	12. Home

20 minutes later, the flustered Doctor had accepted J.T's form and discharged him from the hospital after Pike had assured the medical officer that J.T would be staying at his house for the time being.

The pair walked out of the hospital together, J.T resembling a magnet as he stuck to Pike's side. His eyes constantly darted around the crowded hallways as strangers and medical personnel stared at his scars and Pike's uniform.

Eventually, they made it outside and Pike led J.T to his car that he'd parked nearby. Pike headed for the driver's side and J.T wordlessly headed for the opposite side of the car. As the pair entered the vehicle, the interior lights switched on and the car's power cells activated. Pike maneuvered the vehicle onto the main road and soon they were surrounded by traffic.

'So, have you decided what you want to go by?' Pike asked, checking the console navigation screen briefly before switching his eyes back to the road.

J.T twisted his head and looked at Pike with suspicious, calculating eyes.

'J.T of course, why? You going back on your word lieutenant?' he asked warily.

Pike sighed. Dammit. J.T hardly addressed him by his rank - doing so suggested that the kid was less open to him. Pike had to watch what he said and did - J.T was an expert reader at his body movements and facial expressions.

'No, I'm not going to go back on my word because you'll make the decision yourself. I don't want anyone to know who you really are either but I also don't want you receiving an overwhelming amount of publicity,' Pike twitched the steering yoke and the car turned into the next lane.

'Then call me J.T'.

'The media will pay you more attention if you go by your pseudonym'.

J.T quirked his eyebrow up in a questioning look, suspicion replaced by curiosity.

'I find that hard to believe. Who would give a scrawny survivor a second glance compared to the son of a decorated hero?'

'How about the son of a decorated hero from years ago compared to the well-known savior of a group of younger children only months ago?'

J.T scrunched up his face as he considered Pike's statement.

'When did they find out?'

'About a week before you went earthside'.

'What will happen to my records then?'

'Only myself and a handful of other people have been given access… Although I imagine you'll hack yourself out of existence either way,' Pike finished ruefully.

J.T threw a curious expression in Pike's direction and the lieutenant rolled his eyes at the younger boy.

'Yes, I know about you're activities – Starfleet medical has no clue, though'.

J.T smiled mischievously and for a moment, Pike was struck dumb by his striking resemblance to George Kirk. Suddenly, J.T's face turned serious and Pike could sense the teenagers assessing gaze upon him even though his vision was focused on the road.

'I was trying to find my kids,' he told Pike solemnly, 'but all the records of the survivors were too heavily protected to hack from the PADDs they had at the hospital'.

Pike nodded slowly.

'And you think I know where they are,' he finished.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a fuzzy sphere nod once; he predicted it was J.T's head.

Pike sighed.

'I'm sorry kid; I don't have clearance for that kind of information – you'd have to ask an admiral and even then those people can be pretty tight lipped'.

J.T nodded stoically.

'Yeah, I figured,' he said pragmatically, 'it's ok, I'll find another way'.

Pike glanced sideways at J.T. The teenager was sitting innocently in the seat beside him but Pike had a nagging suspicion that if J.T used better technology that a crummy hospital PADDs he'd be able to hack into whatever he wanted – Starfleet included.

'I bet you will,' mused Pike, his mouth quirking upwards in amusement at the boy's resourcefulness.

The two sat in silence for a while, J.T deep in thought. After a few minutes, he seemed to reach a conclusion and sat up straighter.

'I'll go by Jim,' he announced resolutely.

Pike nodded.

'Good choice,' he agreed, 'just make sure you don't mention your last name'.

* * *

Pike slowed the car until it was rendered immobile outside his house. He pressed the door control and grunted as he climbed out of the car. Jim followed his movement and gawked as he took in the building.

'I've forgotten what civilization looks like,' he murmured.

Pike smiled and locked the car.

'Guess it was the farming life on Tarsus, eh?' he asked.

Jim scoffed and nodded.

'Yeah, literally,' he told Pike.

Pike motioned Jim to follow as he walked towards the front door.

'Come on,' he called, 'it's civilized on the inside as well'.

Pike input his security codes and entered his home – more so his house as the starship was his real home. The interior was plain and simple but compared to the accommodation on Tarsus IV, Pike's house appeared sophisticated to J.T. Pike watched the boy carefully, although he was grateful for the appreciation radiating from Jim's awestruck expression; he had been worried that he wouldn't be able to provide to the teenager's expectations… and still was.

'So… I can show you your room if you like, or if you want you can explore the house yourself? All the rooms should be open but if there's anything locked just let me know and I'll open it,' Pike told Jim.

It was important that the teenager had full access to his new home; locked doors would just lead to suspicion and insecurity and Pike didn't want Jim to think he was holding anything back.

'Thanks,' Jim said, 'I'm good to go myself'.

Pike nodded, he'd expected as much.

'Go ahead then,' Pike motioned with his head towards the heart of the house, 'I'll be around… work stuff'.

Jim nodded and gave Pike the barest of smiles, then he scampered off into the house, body language displaying he was ready for any trap Pike may have set for him.

Pike smiled. Already, the house had brightened with the presence of a younger inhabitant.


	13. Respect

Pike dug through his 'kitchen' in a vain quest for food… _real_ food – he'd been living off meals from the food synthesizer on the starship for the past few months. Pike sighed; he'd done the grocery shopping about a week ago but had neglected to consider the diet of a teenage boy. All that counted as edible in this house were pieces of fruit and various alcoholic drinks. Well that settled it; there was no way he'd be responsible for Jim's possible addiction to alcohol – it'd just be fruit then.

'You done looking around?' Pike asked Jim as he spotted the teenager sitting on the couch.

He backed out from the kitchen and tossed the kid one of the two apples he held.

'Yeah,' Jim answered, snatching the ruby fruit from the air, 'you've got a big house – do you live by yourself?'

Pike nodded, grunting as he sat down heavily in a chair opposite the couch.

'Married to the job,' he declared, 'and I practically live on a starship anyway so this house is always empty.

Crunch!

Pike took a bite from his apple whilst Jim merely consumed his fruit with small bites. Pike frowned slightly; he'd have to do something about the boy's eating habits – it'd take Jim twice as long to put on weight if he ate that slow all the time. Pike chewed thoughtfully as he considered what he had just said.

'You have about four more years before you'll be a legal adult. if you want, you can come with me on the ship when I go off-planet… or I could stay on earth until you're eighteen – I should be able to get a job at the academy-'.

'Chris!'

Pike stopped his rambling and smiled apologetically at the grinning teenager.

'Sorry,' he said.

Jim smiled.

'It's ok,' he told Pike, 'don't stop your career because of me – it'd be the worst way to repay you for all you've done. I can get a job somewhere and live on the streets. Don't worry about me I'll be fine,' he assured.

Pike chewed his bottom lip in indecision.

'No, no,' he muttered, 'the streets aren't safe you can live here'.

Jim rolled his head.

'I'll be _fine_, Chris. Don't worry about me – you go on with your career with Starfleet'.

'What about your education?'

Jim scrunched up his face.

'Teachers hate me. They think that I'm being arrogant when I correct them even if they're wrong. There's nothing I can learn from them'.

Pike raised his eyebrow. Normally, he'd insist that Jim continue his schooling but he had a feeling that the kid wasn't exaggerating.

'No more education, then? Not even for a job?' he asked.

'What job needs you to learn stuff they don't teach in school?' asked Jim confusedly, 'or a textbook for that matter?'

'Starfleet Officers need to learn a great deal more at Starfleet academy that they don't teach you at school,' Pike said mildly.

Instantly, he regretted it. Jim executed a thorny glare towards Pike.

'I'll die before I join Starfleet,' he said flatly.

'Someone with your brain _must_ crave for more,' Pike reasoned, 'Starfleet is composed of the best and brightest – even someone as smart as you would be constantly learning new things'.

Jim shook his head stubbornly. Pike sighed.

'Well… if you really don't want it then I guess it's not for you,' he said quietly.

'Yeah, I guess it isn't,' muttered Jim.

Pike could almost swear he heard a hint of sadness or regret in Jim's voice but his face betrayed no such emotion. Finished with his apple, Pike jumped up off his seat to dispose of the core.

'Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you – the Kelvin anniversary is in a couple of days,' he called over his shoulder, 'they'll be holding a small memorial service at the academy'.

Jim sighed.

'How could I forget?' he mumbled.

Pike frowned slightly.

'You don't like going?' he asked.

'It's not that I _don't_ want to show my respect or anything… it's just that everyone always judges me from Dad's reputation not mine. I want to be my own man – achieve their respect from my own deeds, you know?' Jim asked.

_Trust me, Kid – I know,_ thought Pike_ but you'll only really go as far as your old man if you put aside your personal vendetta against Starfleet and enlist._ Pike could think of no one else more suited for the rank of Captain – even Admiral – in the future. He almost spoke his mind… almost, but what would be the point? Jim wouldn't listen to him and he'd probably give him the cold shoulder for even suggesting it. Pike pitied the kid – so much potential yet he'd never be able to express it completely.

'Yeah,' Pike answered quietly.

He resolved it to be the safest answer he could trust himself saying. He returned to his seat beside the lounge and reclined in its soft centre.

'I don't know about you though, but I'm going,' he said bluntly, 'you should come too – if only just to respect and remember your father. You might as well get some fresh air anyway; you've been cooped up in a hospital ward for the past few days'.

Jim sighed but nodded nonetheless. Pike smiled in response. Jim left the room to dispose of the remains of his apple core. When he returned, he neglected the couch and instead headed straight for the door.

'Thanks for the food, I'm gonna go see if I can find a job,' he told Pike's expectant expression.

'Do you need a lift?' Pike asked.

'Na, I'm good,' Jim's voice drifted from the front of the house, 'I'll see you in a couple of hours'.

And then, he was gone.

For a fleeting moment, Pike had an absurd parental urge to follow the teenager and ensure that he didn't run into any trouble but he squashed that idea. Jim would surely think he was an over-protective guardian and probably a potential stalker. Pike sighed and hoped that the teenager would keep himself safe.

Groaning softly, he cursed his aging bones as he reached over to a side table he'd placed his PADD on earlier. Turning it on, he began flipping through the rest of the reports. Hopefully, it would be enough to distract his mind from Jim's wellbeing.

* * *

Jim's boots crunched over the gravel pathway, his eyes casually scanning the storefront signs he passed until they rested upon a dilapidated door. Its yellow paint was peeling and the building itself failed to advertise it's business but Jim knew a hardware store when he saw one. Better still, it was the kind of store drifters like him went to since it was secluded from the gaudy public areas that Starfleet and manicured citizens hung around.

Perfect.

Jim's mouth quirked upwards in anticipation. He walked boldly towards the door and rapped his knuckles across its surface. There wasn't a handle on it's flat surface so it was safe to assume that he was being scanned – deciding whether to deem him worthy for entrance.

Click!

The door slid open and Jim smiled once more. He walked through the doorway and into a dimly lit room that was narrow enough to be a hallway. A warped type of alien music blared relatively loudly around the cramped room and it looked as it someone had crammed every piece of junk known to the universe into this confined space. The musty air reeked of oil, citrus solvent and burning insulation.

'So who's the new guy in the house?'

An unnaturally happy voice reverberated around the walls towards Jim's ears and an oddly thin Denobulan dressed in earth clothing stepped out from behind a stack of what appeared to be breathing, furry computer cases. Jim lost his train of thought for a moment as the alien's unusual weight brought back memories of similarly shaped bodies from Tarsus IV but he quickly stamped the memory away.

'Uh… hey. I was wondering whether I could talk to the guy who owns this place – would you know where he is?' he replied over the music.

The Denobulan grinned.

'That'd be me – name's Torr. Now what can I do for you, human?'

'Nice to meet you, I'm Jim… and I was wondering if you needed an extra pair of hands?'

The Denobulan looked at him blankly for a few seconds before his face cleared with understanding.

'Ah! A job you mean, yes?' he asked.

Jim nodded.

'Well, this isn't exactly a retail store. But if you want, I can pay you for every piece of equipment that needs fixing – that is, if you can do it?' Torr suggested

Jim blinked at how easy it was but quickly grinned. He wasn't expecting much and so long as he wasn't doing anything related to Starfleet he was happy. This job would be a good start.

'Yeah, no problem – I just need to read the manual and I'll be find. Thanks Torr,' he said.

'No problem, no problem!' the alien exclaimed happily, 'come on – I'll show you what you need'.

Torr waved him towards a hallway that led to a closet sized room.

'This is workshop number three,' Torr announced, 'you can any of the tools in here'.

Jim nodded in appreciation as he checked out the brightly lit workbench inside.

'So, If you could give me your details then I'll contact you whenever something's broke,' Torr said.

Jim inclined his head apologetically.

'Sorry, I'm living with a friend at the moment and I don't have access to a communicator yet. Tell you what – just stick… I dunno… a sheet of paper on your front door – I'll see it and come straight in'.

'Sweet idea,' Torr agreed.

Jim grinned and stuck out his hand.

'Human gesture for thanks,' he explained to Torr and the alien gladly shook his outstretched hand.

'I'll see you later, Torr,' he said.

The alien nodded in acknowledgement and Jim walked out of the shop. Once outside he breathed in the fresh air, glad with his new boss. Torr was the kind of alien who was friendly enough to know your first name and go with it. He was the first person since Jim had returned to earth that didn't delve into Jim's past and didn't appear to care either.

It felt great to be incognito; Jim just wondered how long it would last.


	14. A Father's Opinion

**(Guest): I can't make any promises but I myself would like to introduce Scotty, Chekov and Sulu in sometime during the story. Not completely sure about Chekov though, since he'd only be almost 2 years old relative to the other character's ages.**

* * *

Pike tweaked the steering yoke and the car slid into the space between two other vehicles. The powercells and anti-grav pads faded till they stilled as Pike and Jim alighted from the two front seats. Christopher Pike swept his eyes over the familiar network of buildings and sighed in appreciation; more than one held fond memories of the lieutenant's cadet years. This time however, he was returning without George Kirk but with best friend's son. It was uncanny; Jim Kirk looked so much like his father after a shower and haircut. It was as if the person he had come to the academy with really _was_ George Kirk – only, one of them had gone through some absurb de-aging process.

In comparison, Jim Kirk scowled as he saw the academy grounds. _It really couldn't look more pathetic on their advertisements than in real life,_ he mused. Truthfully, he could have scorned the place out loud but he had grown to respect Christopher Pike and didn't want to offend him after all he'd done for Jim since Tarsus IV.

'You ready?' Pike asked from the pavement, twisting his head around to glance at the teenager still standing beside the car.

Jim grunted in response and plodded over to join Pike on the footpath. Satisfied that Jim was content to follow, Pike turned and walked towards the parade grounds where the memorial service was being held. Pike in his formal Starfleet uniform, and Jim in simple jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Jim had refused to wear anything 'impractical' and the long sleeves worked to cover his scars. Majority of the lines were on his torso but he had a few running over his arms although they were little more than silver streaks.

The grounds were filled primarily with cadets although they respected the Kelvin memorial service and steered clear of the parade grounds as much as they could. Pike occasionally spotted flashes of midshipman uniform; from the basic grey of first-year plebes to the metallic shirts of upperclassmen. He smiled when he spotted a handful of cadets wearing a red, familiar looking uniform.

'You miss this place, don't you?'

Pike turned in surprise. The pair had been walking in silence and he had indeed been caught up reminiscing. With Jim following so quietly he had all but forgotten that the teenager was accompanying him.

He had grown so use to attending these memorial services by himself, deprived of a friend who had given his life to save the boy beside him.

'Yes,' Pike admitted, 'I spent four years at the academy. Your father was my roommate for one of those years'.

That caught Jim's attention.

'Really?' he asked.

Pike smiled in Jim's sudden burst of interest.

'Yeah,' he said wistfully, 'he was a great friend, your father. Incredible ingenuity and damn smart too – all the teachers knew he was going to go far. He'd be the perfect student in class but if you caught him on a Saturday Night…'

Pike trailed off cryptically and chuckled at the memory.

'Chris!'

Pike looked up at his name and grinned when he caught site of a familiar face.

'Alex!' he called gleefully, 'it's been too long - how've you been?'

Jim wandered to the side and gazed around the parade grounds while Pike walked a few metres ahead to converse with his friend. Jim assumed that the grounds had been dressed for the memorial and he noticed the telltale signs of typical Starfleet order in the layout of the venue.

There was a wide stage facing neat rows of plain, grey chairs. On the stage were a clear lectern and a single line of the same simple chairs, presumably for those who would be using the stage.

Once Jim took in the surrounding environment and ensured that there was no present danger, he tore his gaze from the furniture and walked over towards Pike and his friend.

'…I actually only came back to earth a few weeks after you arrived,' Alex was telling Pike.

Alex noticed Jim approaching and he looked pointedly at Pike who turned around and noticed Jim.

'Oh! Alex, this is Jim. Jim, this is Alex; he was the one who talked me into joining Starfleet; you can call him Captain Marcus,' Pike explained

Jim raised his eyebrow and nodded his greetings towards the older man. Other than that, he stayed silent. _Talked, eh? So that was how Starfleet managed to recruit decent blokes like Chris_, he thought.

If Alex thought Jim's unenthusiastic response was unusual he said nothing of it. Instead, the middle-aged man smiled at him and then swiveled his head around, seeming to search for something.

'Ah! There she is!' he exclaimed to himself, 'Carol, honey, come over hear and say hello to Lieutenant Pike,' he called to a teenage girl talking to a Tellarite next to the rows of chairs.

He beckoned towards himself and Carol walked over to the trio.

'Too long indeed!' Pike agreed with his previous statement, 'she's grown so tall, Alex!'

Alex chuckled and Carol smiled at Pike's observation.

'Hello, lieutenant,' she greeted, 'I didn't know you were earthside'.

Pike inclined his head in apparent agreement.

'Yes, well I've finally used house for the past few months. Been looking after Jimmy here'.

Marcus threw his friend a knowing grin and placed a hand on Carol's shoulder.

'This is my daughter, Carol,' he told Jim.

'Hello,' Carol smiled.

Jim gave her the same greeting he'd given Marcus. A Starfleet Captain was no different from his Barbie daughter. The only people who deserved respect were those who'd earned it. Otherwise, he'd be giving everyone an excuse to think that they owned him in some way. No way was he ever making that mistake again.

Not like he had with Kodos.

He knew all too well that even without respect, Kodos could manipulate you into going so far as to grovel at his feet regardless whether you intended to or not.

Pike coughed apologetically at Jim's cold response and brought him back to the present.

'Sorry, it's not you two,' he muttered and meaningfully touched the Starfleet insignia on his shirt as discreetly as he could.

Alex's mouth opened to emulate the shape it would form if he had verbalized the word 'Oh' and he nodded minutely. Pike smiled to himself, satisfied that his friend had successfully received his excuse and that Jim hadn't seen the exchange.

Jim almost scoffed. The naivety of people these days; they thought their actions went unnoticed as long as the third party failed to interject.

'So, Carol,' began Pike, hoping to move on from the awkward pause in conversation, 'have you decided when you'll be joining the academy?'

'Hopefully after I've finished my schooling but I think I might probably join a few years after graduation – want to see my options, you know?' she replied.

Pike nodded thoughtfully.

'Well, all I can say is that you're father will be proud on the day you graduate from the academy. Although, you may not be able to get a spot on his ship – I'm certain he'll be an Admiral by then!' he joked.

Jim felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. He knew Pike had meant no harm but he's words had cut deep. _You're father will be proud on the day you graduate from the academy_ remembered Jim, Pike's words reminding him of his own deceased father and personal stubbornness against Starfleet. All this time he hadn't been considering his father's opinion. _If dad were alive today_, thought Jim _would he approve of my actions? Or would he be disappointed? Would he rather be proud of a son who graduated from the academy, and not one who soldered metal for the rest of his life?_

The doubts were taking a toll on Jim's self-confliction and he decided to leave the conversation before he made an emotional outburst. Silently, he walked away from the trio towards the rows of chairs. Pike noticed his departure although the expression on Jim's face stopped him from going after the troubled teenager.


	15. Example or Individual?

Jim walked through the rows of chairs, one row at a time. His legs moved mechanically, his mind in a completely different universe. Jim resolved that inner conflicts were the most complicated of arguments. If only he were Vulcan, then his realistic, logical thoughts wouldn't have to fight with his personal thoughts.

'J.T?'

Instantly, he lost his train of thought. His head jerked up and he felt a flash of panic at hearing the name he had left behind in that hospital ward. Or was it Tarsus IV? It was hard to tell when he had really decided that he would drop his identity from that planet along with the memories that came with it – a verbal confirmation in the front seat of a car was only a public announcement after all.

He relaxed when he spotted a familiar looking woman.

'Hi, Mrs. Greyson,' he said.

The middle-aged mother smiled warmly in response. Her career was teaching youth so it wasn't a surprise that she had a compassionate nature. In a way, she reminded him of the mother he never had. Winona had always found Jim unbearable to look at as he reminded her too much of her dead husband; she may not have voiced her thoughts, but Jim knew it was true.

'I must say, I'm surprised to see you at the academy,' Amanda said pleasantly.

Jim grunted in agreement. He knew she meant the memorial and hadn't suggested that he was attending the academy; she was one of the few people he didn't have to explain his hatred of Starfleet to. After teaching numerous teenager survivors from the massacre Amanda Greyson didn't have to be reminded of their extremely opinionated view on Starfleet.

'I'm staying with a Starfleet officer and his best friend died on the _Kelvin_ so I came with him,' he explained, 'the deceased may have died on a Starship but he's has taught me that not all Officers are incompetent'.

Amanda nodded.

'George Kirk is a man of individual integrity,' she agreed, 'his actions are his own'.

Jim gave her a genuine smile. Her assurance was enough to set him at peace for a few minutes. He wondered at her difference from a normal, human response and then remembered her relations.

'Where is Spock?' he asked.

Amanda smiled but Jim detected a hint of sadness in her expression.

'He had to return to Vulcan upon his father's wishes for his education,' she said, 'I'll be returning there myself once Starfleet is in no need of anymore teachers for the hospitals'.

'You must miss him,' Jim replied quietly.

'I do,' Amanda admitted, 'his logic is something that I miss sorely on Earth and the presence of a son is not something to be taken for granted'.

Jim grinned.

'Yeah, I know how you feel,' he told her.

Amanda smiled with the comfort that came from those who could relate to personal pain – it was common news in the ward of Jim's kids. After all, it was hard to ignore his daily, raging demands to see them again.

'Jim'.

Jim looked up in surprise at his name. Mentally, he berated himself; he had honed his senses on Tarsus IV so that he'd never be taken by surprise by an approaching soldier. He flinched on reflex when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and Pike saw the movement. Hastily, he dropped his hand and smiled a greeting at the woman Jim had been conversing with.

'Hello,' he told her.

'Lieutenant,' she replied; the two adults were acquainted from Pike's numerous visits to the hospital.

Pike turned towards Jim.

'The service it about to begin,' he told him, 'we better go sit down before it starts'.

Jim nodded and smiled in farewell to Amanda.

'Goodbye… Jim,' Amanda said as she turned and headed towards a seat, her eyebrow quirking up in an unspoken question

Being the person she was however, she didn't see it logical to ask about another name Jim obviously didn't want known. And for that, he was grateful.

'Come on, kiddo,' Pike called as he walked towards the middle row.

On their way towards their seats, Pike briefly greeted every second person he saw – namely colleges in Starfleet – and introduced them to Jim. Thankfully, deprived of his last name, none of them made the connection between Jim and James T. Kirk.

Finally, Pike found two seats he was happy with and sat down. Jim felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu as the seats quickly filled around him and he was surrounded by humans and aliens alike. It reminded him all too much of the day that the colonists of Tarsus IV had converged in the town hall right before they were slaughtered. Hastily, he stamped down the rising feeling of panic and composed his features to betray no hint of his true emotions.

A man dressed in a formal Starfleet Uniform stood up from one of the chairs on the stage and walked towards the lectern. He cleared his throat before moving his mouth closer to the microphone.

'We are gathered today to remember the tragedy that occurred 14 years ago and the lives lost on that day,' he began, his voice reverberating around the area.

The people surrounding Jim murmured sympathetically and the surviving crew of the _Kelvin_ bowed their heads as they remembered their fallen friends. In contrast, Pike kept his eyes glued to the front although they softened slightly.

'We also remember the act of one man who gave his own life to save the lives of those who were spared that day'.

The speaker paused and swept his eyes across the silent crowd before resuming his speech.

'George Kirk was one of the finest officers that Starfleet trained and although he was only Captain for twelve minutes, he saved more lives than was conceivable in the duration of a Starfleet career. He is a shining example of Starfleet's officers and we acknowledge his courage even in the face of death'.

Jim fought back a wave of rage.

_Starfleet's_ officer.

Was that _all_ his dad was? An expendable officer?

After all the lives he had saved and the self sacrifice he had committed how could Starfleet still have the gall to talk about his father as if they _owned_ him? The speaker had even composed his words in such a way to hint that George Kirk's actions were a result of Starfleet's training.

_Shining example my ass_, thought Jim _my dad isn't just another officer, he isn't someone you use in your advertisements or an example to con more innocent bystanders into enlistment._

_Well screw it all,_ thought Jim; he wasn't going to sit here and listen while they stuck his family name and Starfleet together. George Kirk's and Starfleet were not the same – his father had acted on his own decisions and as an _individual_ made the ultimate self-sacrifice out of compassion for the lives on that Starship.

Disgusted, Jim stood up from his seat and instantly regretted it. With everyone within forty metres on their backsides he stood out like a tree amongst a field of grass. But there was no going back on his decision, he pushed down his embarrassment and made his way through the crevice between knees and chair backs at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Christopher Pike looked up sharply as the teenager beside him stood up but he caught sight of Jim's face and remained silent. It wouldn't do to have Pike follow Jim – it could even cause him more embarrassment – so Pike stayed where he was and resolved to check on the boy after the service if he failed to return.

Faces flipped up as Jim walked up the aisle but quickly looked away as they noticed the hostile expression on his face. He ignored them and kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to meet their curious expressions. For some however, the dangerous gleam in his eyes caused them to grow in interest instead of shying away.

One such individual was Carol Marcus.

Leaning over to her father, she nudged him with her elbow.

'Hey, dad? I'll be back in a bit, just want to check on Jim,' she muttered.

'What? That kid with Pike?' he whispered.

She nodded.

'Yeah, he stormed out just then,' she reminded him.

He huffed but nodded.

'Ok, fine – but don't take too long,' he told her.

'Thanks,' she murmured and got up from her seat although she remained in a hunched position, wary of the attention Jim had received when he'd stood up.

Maneuvering through the row, she reached an aisle and straightened her back. Ahead, she could sight Jim's retreating figure and purposefully strode after him.

Jim continued his stiff gaited walk until he had reached the wall of a building not too far from the last row of chairs. Without breaking his pace he turned left and walked beside the wall, breathing deeply to control his anger at the speaker's ignorance.

Another wall appeared to his left so that he was now walking in a concrete tunnel. He walked a few metres into the outdoor corridor and then stopped. Sure that the second wall was now hiding him from the view of the memorial attendants; he pivoted and viciously kicked the wall, swearing quietly as a lance of pain shot up his foot.

'J.T?'

Jim panicked and he quickly whipped his head around the vicinity; he had been so sure that it was empty when he'd let his guard down.

Dammit.

It seemed he would never be able to express himself freely in public. Turning, he braced himself for the worst and composed his face.

A teenager a few years older than him stood at the end of the concrete hallway a few metres away from him.


	16. Knowledge

Carol slowed so that her footsteps would be little more than muffled thuds. She was glad that she'd chosen to wear soft-soled shoes to the service. For some unbeknownst reason, she had a gut feeling that she shouldn't alert Jim to her presence. Stopping at the beginning of the outdoor corridor she'd watched him walk into, she positioned herself horizontally against the opening and tilted her head slightly inwards so that she could see and hear everything in the corridor without anyone inside being able to see little more than a sliver of her – enough to give the individual an nagging feeling from a sixth sense but probably not enough to cause them to act upon those instincts. She slouched herself casually against the width of the wall so that she would be appear to be talking to Jim from he father's position in the crowd.

She watched as the teenager abruptly spun and kicked the wall as hard as he could muster, wincing at the force he had used. Carol raised her eyebrow at his violent behavior. It seemed as if her were venting out frustration or anger, she wondered what had caused such feelings.

Unknown to Jim, but completely clear to Carol, a teenager boy rounded the corner and stopped when he caught sight of Jim. His eyes widened in guilty shock and he seemed to be about to perform a hasty retreat but something stopped him.

'J.T?' he asked.

Carol's eyes widened in surprise as Jim quickly wheeled around. She had heard that name before on the news feeds… J.T was one of the survivors from Tarsus IV who was responsible for the safety of a group of kids. The events of Tarsus IV were months old but she still remembered the horror of them clearly enough. If Jim really was the child hero than it would explain his withdrawn personality.

She listened intently, confident that her patience would reveal Jim's true self to her.

* * *

Twisting around, Jim instinctively reached for the knife he kept in his boot since the Tarsus IV massacre but froze when he caught sight of the speaker.

'Tyker?' he blurted out.

Tyker took a few steps closer, squinting as he scrutinized Jim.

'Yeah I thought it was you,' he said, 'got yourself some nice dregs, did you?' he pointed at Jim's clothes, 'Where'd you get them from?'

'A friend,' Jim replied flatly, 'you don't look too bad yourself'.

Conversely, Tyker looked like a homeless, repeat offender – which, in hindsight was actually a great improvement from his appearance on Tarsus IV. So, in fact, Jim's snarky comment was closer to the truth than others may have suspected.

Tyker scoffed.

'A friend,' he repeated scornfully, 'you were always worst than the rest of us when it came to trust; how the hell'd you make a friend?' he muttered more to himself than Jim.

By 'us', Tyker meant the rest of the survivors in the hospital ward. Jim had treated Tyker as he had treated everyone else and even now he still had no desire to make friends with the unstable teenager.

'What're you doing here?' Jim demanded.

Tyker chortled sarcastically.

'Oh, Jimmy boy I think the answer to that question is something _you_ must tell _me_'.

Jim opened his mouth to speak but Tyker beat him to it.

'You're not the only sad-ass that Tarsus changed. Everyone from that planet is just as experienced as you when it comes to survival, _Jim_. All it took was a bit of 'blending into the crowd' to find out your name. You know – the one you refused to give to the medics. I wonder how much the reporters would pay me if I let slip your real name. And lucky for me, good old J.T is famous enough to give me a decent haul of leverage against you my _friend'_.

He spat out the last word and drew a pocketknife from his pants. Some of the Tarsus survivors had grown accustomed to keeping a weapon on themselves at all time and it was a hard habit to break.

Tyker kept his hand by his side but the knife it held was an obvious threat. Jim drilled his gaze into Tyker's eyes but kept the weapon in his peripheral vision. Tyker covered the rest of the distance between himself and Jim, sticking his face up to Jim's.

'Now – what the _hell_ are you doing here?' he growled.

'Paying my respects for the dead,' Jim replied with equal malice.

Tyker's mouth quirked upwards in a sinister smile at Jim's defiance but his face quickly returned to its deadly expression.

'What ever happened to make you think that Starfleet's corpses are worth your pity? Those bastards screw with your mind, did they? Or did you forget their incompetence when my father was _murdered_?'

Jim shoved Tyker roughly and the teenager stumbled back a few steps.

'My father is one of the dead,' he snarled, 'surely even you can understand why he would deserve my pity. Don't you _dare_ accuse me of my feelings towards Starfleet! I came to pay my respects to my _father_, not _them_! Starfleet is the reason my dad is dead'.

Jim locked his eyes onto Tyker's and dared him to contradict him. He expected a verbal assault from Tyker – a physical attack maybe – and welcomed it with open arms. It had been too long since he'd had a fight and it would be good to let out his pent up anger on _someone_.

To his surprise however, Tyker didn't fight him. Instead, he chuckled – this time with genuine amusement.

'You convince me, J.T – I guess you haven't succumbed to Starfleet after all,' he nodded his head thoughtfully.

Tyker flipped his blade shut and pocketed it.

'Tell you what, I'll let you know why _I'm_ here' he said in a reasonable tone.

'I don't care anymore,' Jim said.

He turned to walk back to the memorial service.

Eight metres away, Carol Marcus breathed in sharply as she noticed Jim turn. His body language suggested that he would be walking out of the corridor and towards where Carol hid. In seconds, he would spot her and accuse her of eavesdropping. After all she had witnessed and learnt about him, she didn't fancy being on the receiving end of his anger. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to retreat but she needed not for Tyker grabbed Jim by his arm and stopped him from taking a step closer. She breathed out silently in relief and stayed where she was to listen to their conversation.

Jim twisted his head sharply and immediately tugged his arm free from Tyker's grasp.

'Don't touch me,' he snarled.

The teenager must have seen the dangerous gleam in Jim's eye for he let his arm go.

'You'll want to know, why I'm here,' Tyker promised.

Jim stood for a few seconds in indecision as he contemplated Tyker's words. There was little these days that Jim could possibly want to know. Normally, he'd find out himself by his own means. Unless, of course, if you didn't count the location of his kids. But he'd gotten a job at a hardware shop so he'd soon be able to get his hands on the right equipment to hack his way into Starfleet's database.

'What could you possibly know that would interest me?' he rolled his eyes to prove his disbelief.

Tyker grinned.

'A plan to attack Starfleet. To hurt them, like they hurt us – a plan of retribution,' he smirked.

Jim narrowed his eyes.

'How?' he asked.

Tyker's mouth twisted into a cruel, heartless smile.

'Murder,' he leered.


	17. Revenge & Retribution

Jim blinked in surprise.

'What?' he asked.

If anything, Tyker's smile widened.

'Good o'l dynamite, my friend,' he chortled and made a move to playfully punch Jim.

Instinctively, Jim blocked the punch and harshly knocked Tyker's hand away.

'I'm not your friend,' he growled.

It did little to faze Tyker's manic mood.

'I'm surprised, J.T,' Tyker said, 'after all; an enemy of your enemy of is your friend.'

Jim continued to glare at the teenager. Tyker scoffed at Jim's uncompliance.

'You'll see,' he promised, 'and you'll regret it when you see your greatest enemy finally fall and know that you missed the opportunity to be part of it.'

'You won't be able to blow up Starfleet even if you had all the gear for it,' Jim said flatly.

Tyker tutted and waggled his finger in front of Jim's face. His grin was infuriating and his finger even more so. Tyker was treating him like a misbehaving child and Jim had lost that side of him on Tarsus IV; he was older than an adult now, with all that he had seen on that forsaken planet. Annoyed he squatted Tyker's hand from the air.

'Get your finger out of my face,' he snarled.

'Oh, but you be judging haaard Jim,' Tyker leered, ignoring the insulting comment Jim had thrown at him, 'unlike you – I can make friends, and one of the boys in the ward is as smart as you. He can make bombs – give 'im some dynamite and he can make _anything_ you ask.'

Jim rolled his eyes.

'Congrats Tyker, you found a puppy dog to make you firecrackers,' he drawled, unimpressed.

'Na, na, na,' Tyker contradicted, 'this one's the real deal – that's how he survived on Tarsus. Blew up the soldiers with a couple 'o land mines and a grenade or two and then stole their food. Kodos took all the guns, yeah? Even the colony's Stone Age rifles that we used to live 'old fashioned' just so that we'd be left with _nothing_, but he never used the crummy things. All his kids had laser rifles cause they didn't need no bullets so he didn't bother taking the gunpowder. My boy took the stuff and made all the explosives with whatever he scrounged up. He ain't no fighter like you – heck, he'd piss himself in his first fight – but he don't need that stuff to survive.'

'He tell you this, did he?' Jim asked.

Tyker nodded and Jim scoffed.

'You dumb-ass, he fed you his crap and you ate it,' Jim said.

Tyker spat to the side, his spittle splattering against the pristine concrete.

'He's the real deal!' he insisted, 'already made me a haul of blasters – all I gotta do now is pinch a plebe uniform and plant them!'

That stopped Jim in his tracks. He froze, as he comprehended what Tyker had just told him.

'He's… already made you the bombs?' Jim asked very slowly.

The corner of Tyker's mouth tugged upwards, although the smile was a sinister one. He seemed pleased with himself that he had managed to get Jim to take him seriously and quickly grasped the opportunity before it slipped away.

'Yeah man, it's like I said,' he said, 'but he's dead yellow so he pissed off after he gave me the bombs. C'mon J.T, you hate Starfleet as bad as I do. With your brains and my bombs we can plant them and set the whole place on fire!'

'The academy?' J.T asked, confused.

'Yes!' Tyker replied as if it were obvious, 'you can't kill a weed unless you pull it out by it's roots – the academy is _Starfleet's_ roots! Without all the fresh meat to train, Starfleet will run out of officers to replace their old ones!'

Jim frowned.

'It's Starfleet's fault that Kodos killed all those people, but their cadets didn't have anything to do with it – it's not even their job.'

'But it _will_ be,' Tyker argued, 'Come _on_, Jim! This is the chance of a lifetime!'

Jim scowled.

'Don't call me that,' he snapped, 'you aren't my friend. I don't trust you, I'll never trust you.'

'You can say that all you like but we're _partners_ now,' Tyker told him.

'Says who?'

'Says me! We're blowing up this place _together_ aren't we?'

'No we're not, I never said I would.'

'But you will.'

Jim shook his head.

'No, I'm not. It's not moral – you can't just kill innocent people'.

'_Moral_? _Innocent_?' Tyker asked, taken aback, 'was it _moral_ for Starfleet to leave thousands of people on Tarsus IV to starve? Will those fancy cadets still be _innocent_ once they're officers?'

'Who are you to judge what is moral and what is not? Were we not _innocent_ when we were starving and Starfleet killed us by abandoning us? It's not retribution if you want to cause the same suffering to their cadets. It's revenge.'

'How is it any different from retribution?'

'Because retribution is punishment and the people at this academy have done nothing wrong to deserve your anger.'

'What's the matter, Jimmy? Lost your bottle? Can't _kill_ anymore? I know you've done it – we've all done it. Otherwise, we wouldn't be alive; Kodos 'soldiers would've shot us long ago.'

Jim jerked his foot upwards and his boot knife was propelled into his hand. Before Tyker could make sense of his sharp movement, Jim had covered the distance between himself and the teenager. He shoved his forearm against Tykers's throat and pushed him up against the wall. In seconds, Jim had the teenager trapped against the far wall with his knife pressing against the delicate skin under Tyker's chin.

'Don't, be so quick to underestimate me,' Jim breathed dangerously, his eyes locked on Tyker's.

Tyker choked out a short bark of laughter, Jim's knife pressing into his neck every time he drew a breath. In this position, it was difficult to talk and Tyker had to choose his words carefully, leaving no room for foolish banter. It was exactly what Jim wanted.

'You… won't kill… me,' he gasped out.

'Why not?' Jim snarled.

'Because… I'll blow you up first,' Tyker threatened.

Reaching up, he unzipped his jacket to reveal a crude – but effective – bomb vest. It was obvious that Tyker had been telling the truth about his friend, as the bomb vest wasn't as neat as a store bought – or black market bought – bomb vest. In contrast, it was disheveled and a mess of wires but otherwise, looked as if it could definitely blow him up if Tyker activated it's switch… Switch… Jim glanced further downwards and his heart sunk as he spotted Tyker's hand engulfed in a pocket that likely contained the detonator.

Jim had no choice but to do what Tyker wanted; even if the teenager was bluffing, it was too dangerous to try for a compromise. Slowly, he relinquished his knife and arm from Tyker's neck and stepped back.

Tyker cackled in glee. It was a crazed laugh and rightly so. After all, what sane person would want to blow themselves up?

'That's right, J.T,' he leered, 'run away, cause you got no friends and you lost the one chance you had at getting _revenge_ on Starfleet.'

Jim stayed silent but projected as much malice as he could in his eyes towards Tyker.

'I guess I'll have to move onto plan B if you're not helping me. Besides, I'd rather _die_ than get caught trying to plant bombs and spend the rest of my life in another prison – Tarsus IV was enough captivity for a lifetime,' he regarded Jim's lethal expression with carelessness, 'Geez, lighten up Jimmy – you should be happy. You've won the argument and now I'm going to blow up the real people who are responsible – not those slimy cadets you love so much.'

Jim frowned slightly as he tried to make sense of Tyker's statement. There weren't any Starfleet officers for… dammit… for about 10 metres. He had forgotten about the officers at the memorial… and Pike.

Jim looked up, abandoning all sense of rational thinking and prepared to negotiate with Tyker but the teenager had begun to walk towards the end of the concrete corridor.

Carol's eyes widened as she reached the same conclusion as Jim. Seeing Tyker walking towards her hiding spot, she quickly turned and ran to other opening of the tunnel.

Jim started after the retreating teenager.

'Tyker!' he called, 'wait!'

'Too late,' the boy said nonchalantly as he stepped out into the sunlight.

'Wait!' Jim hissed and broke into a jog.

He stopped short of the corridor entrance and watched as Tyker walked towards the back of the unsuspecting crowd. He was helpless – he couldn't run out and expose himself for fear that Starfleet might accuse him of being an accomplice or incase Tyker blew himself up earlier out of panic, but he couldn't just stand here doing nothing either. Chris was in that crowd and Jim would never forgive himself if he let his father's best friend die – he owed his dad that much.

* * *

The speaker on the stage let his gaze wander as he slogged through the same speech he'd recited the previous year and noticed a disheveled looking teenager approaching the service. Even as his mouth and vocal chords moved mechanically to perform his well-rehearsed speech, he squinted to determine the bizarre looking contraption on the individual's chest. It wasn't so much for the fact that he was shortsighted – everyone in this century had perfect eyesight thanks to modern medicine – but the distance between the stage and the approaching boy. Only when the boy had covered a few more precious metres did the speaker realize what was strapped to the teenager's chest. He hastily turned to where the few security personnel were standing in a precise line perpendicular to the stage.

'Um… er,' he stammered, 'we seem to have a breech.'

Thankfully, the officers understood his directed statement and instantly turned the attention to him. The speaker subtly inclined his head towards the teenager and they switched their gaze until they noticed the solitary individual. Because of the bomb's unusual appearance, the officers stood confused for a few seconds until they realized what was strapped to the teenager's torso.

* * *

Jim swore under his breath. Tyker had almost reached the back row of seats and he was still stuck behind this blasted wall. So he did what he did best – he improvised.

Seasoned after countless life or death situations, his brain immediately addressed the problem at hand and determined the most effective solution – regardless whether it was ethical or not. On Tarsus, there was little room for moral and ethical thinking when it came to survival… or the survival of the people he cared for – in this case, Chris.

He adjusted the position of his knife in his palm and held it by his side. Jim had thrown knives over different distances and of ranging weight countless times before. He trusted his instincts to overcome him as it always did and allow the blade to hit its mark.

Virtually no wind, medium sized target, about twenty metres northwest.

He closed his eyes, imagining the path of his knife as he released it and exhaled before opening them again.

In one fluid motion, he brought his hand up and over his head.


	18. Ethicality

As Jim brought his arm up, his grip on his knife automatically loosened in anticipation for its release.

Up, up, up…. Stop.

* * *

Carol Marcus ran along the wall until it ended. Glancing inside the corridor, she spotted Jim with his back turned to her and hand gripping his knife. She ran through the dire situation at hand and realized what the teenager had in mind. Instantly, she broke into a sprint as Jim's arm began its ascent.

As she ran, she watched as the knife moved closer and closer to the apex of the throw. A cold fist clenched her stomach and she feared that she would be too late.

Whisshh-

As the knife reached the height of it's climb through the air, Carol reached out and grabbed Jim's arm. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw that the knife remained in his hand and not in the skull of the suicidal teenager.

Immediately, Jim whirled around, wrenching his arm from her grip. His hand shot out as fast as a snake and clamped down on the arm she had used to stop his throw. He lunged forward and his free hand shoved her against the wall. His hand finally relinquished its grip on her arm and the knife inside it was brought up to her throat.

Carol's heart stopped briefly from fear as her eyes met with Jim's. They were murderous.

'What d-' he snarled but then stopped.

She exhaled a shaky breath as she watched his face clear, it's lethal expression slowly replaced with a shocked one.

'Carol?' he asked, 'why-what are you doing here?'

In her mind, she answered him with a remark about the fact that those were the first words he'd said since she'd met him but the knife against her throat warned her that it wouldn't do to waste his time with small talk.

'I-I was trying to stop you,' she stuttered, 'you can't kill that boy.'

His face softened as he noticed her petrified expression and he stepped back from her, moving his arm and knife away from her throat.

'Sorry,' he muttered, 'force of habit.'

'From Tarsus?' murmured Carol, rubbing her throat.

Instantly, Jim's face turned dangerous once more.

'You were eavesdropping,' he accused, 'I knew I felt someone watching,' he muttered to himself.

When she didn't say anything he sighed in annoyance and started to turn towards the entrance of the corridor. Her eyes widened when she realized what he was about to do.

'No! Wait! Jim, you can't-'

She froze as he turned back to her, his blue eyes so lethal they were ice from the intensity of his emotion.

'Can't what?' he demanded.

When she didn't reply he turned back to the entrance one more and gripped his knife more forcibly.

'He's going to die himself anyway, suicidal arse,' he muttered although he sounded more unsure of himself.

Carol grasped onto his moment of doubt and reached out to hold his wrist so that he wouldn't be able to throw his knife. He glanced down at her hand and flinched away but she held on, determined to stop him doing what couldn't be undone.

'He won't if you don't throw that knife,' she said quietly, reasonably, 'and neither will any of those people.'

'If I don't throw he'll die as well as those people – as well as your _father_,' he said.

Carol swallowed back her fear at her father's possible murder and concentrated on the task at hand. Her father was always telling her about his Starfleet career and she remembered him once warning her of the importance of regulation 619.

"_The commanding officer must relieve themselves of command if their current mission leaves them emotionally compromised and unable to make rational decisions"_

She could not let herself become emotionally compromised – especially in a situation such as the one she found herself in now. If she was emotionally compromised she wouldn't be able to make rational choices and seeing as Jim was already making irrational choices it would most likely result in the death of at least one individual, today.

'You once had to do terrible things to survive but this isn't Tarsus IV, this is Earth. Are you prepared to bear the consequences of your actions? Because Earth isn't like Tarsus, there are rules you have to follow – ethical decisions you have to make, not emotional,' she told him.

'There's a lot worse things than living in a prison cell for the rest of your life,' muttered Jim, his eyes glued onto Tyker who was slowly walking towards the crowd.

'And what about Pike? Does he deserve the consequences of your actions?' Carol asked.

For a few seconds, Jim actually looked confused. But then the mask was back on his face.

'Pike won't have to receive the consequences of an action that was not his,' he said.

'Yes, he will because this isn't Tarsus this is Earth,' Carol replied, hoping to hell that he would believe her.

In truth, she wasn't entirely sure herself of the truth behind her arguments but for the time being they seemed to be doing the trick so she kept with it. Jim was wavering; she could feel his hand fidgeting with his knife.

'Don't do this Jim, it isn't your job – let security deal with it. You don't always have to do a job meant for adults.'

'You really think those officers will do anything?' he demanded, 'Starfleet is far from perfect and their officers are just puppets, they strip your individuality from you.'

_He doesn't trust Starfleet to take care of the problem,_ thought Carol _he lost that trust after they failed to realize the situation on Tarsus IV… I'm so screwed, he's going to throw it and there won't be anything I can do to stop him._

'Jim,' she pleaded.

'_Um… er, we seem to have a breech.'_

Both she and Jim turned towards stage at the front of the service as, whoever was having their turn behind the lectern, said a sentence out of place from the speech they had been giving.

The two teenagers watched as three security personnel drew their phasers. Two of them kept their weapons gripped by their hips but the third raised his phaser and immediately stunned Tyker before he realized that he'd been spotted.

A few, present in the crowd uttered feminine squeals at the short scene of action but as most of the attendants were disciplined officers the three security officers were able to arrest Tyker without too much of an upheaval.

Carol sighed in relief and released her grip on Jim's wrist. She felt her faith in Starfleet justified and hoped that Jim's had be restored.

* * *

**Just curious, should I make this a mild Carol/Jim pairing? Or write it so that they're just friends? Please let me know what you guys want so that I'll know where to head this story. Suggestions are welcome and appreciated.**

**Thanks!**


	19. Words, Secrets, Promises

**Sorry to everyone that this chapter is late! I was planning to upload it a few days ago but every time I clicked on 'Manage Stories' to post this chapter all I got was this page that said "_ Error Type 1, An error has occurred while processing your request etc."_**

**Also, thank you for your reviews regarding my question on the previous chapter. So far, the count is [pairing: 6, friends: 6] **

**As you can see, so far it's is a tie so I've decided to write it as if they're friends yet hinting at a pairing. If you really want them to be friends or paired please let me know in the reviews and I'll change the story according to how the number of votes change. **

**(ForgottenDreamer98): thank you for pointing out my confusion over slash and pairing! I had no idea that slash was meant for gay pairings. **

* * *

With the short burst of drama over, the speaker on the stage hastily apologized for the incident and continued with his speech as if nothing had ever occurred. Jim blinked, seeming to come of a daze and instinctively backed away from the edge of the wall incase someone spotted him watching. He took Carol by the crook of her elbow and pulled her away as well, stopping only when they were a meter away from the opening.

'What did you hear?' he asked her.

'What?' Carol asked, confused.

Her mind was only just trying to comprehend what she had seen and was struggling to decipher Jim's question.

'Before, when you were eavesdropping – what did you hear?' Jim repeated, agitation creeping into his voice.

'Uh… oh, that,' Carol said, hoping he wasn't angry with her – she could probably guess what happened to people who did, 'sorry, I only followed you to see if you were Ok… I just wanted to help.'

Jim sighed in frustration and chucked a quick glace sideways to ensure that no peeping Tom would go unnoticed this time – he had already learnt his lesson with the Captain's daughter.

'I don't care _why_ you followed me and I'm already beyond anyone's help – I asked you what you _heard_,' he shot out impatiently.

Carol felt a spike of fear shoot through her at Jim's hostile expression but immediately berated herself; she wasn't some porcelain doll or a stereotypical blonde – she was a Captain's daughter and damned well act like one if she ever had any hope of rising the ranks of Starfleet. She jerked her arm free from Jim's grasp and gave a glare of her own.

'Everything after you kicked the wall,' she said.

Jim's eyes narrowed and he suddenly turned wary.

'So everything,' he muttered bitterly.

_Although_, his brain told him, _perhaps not _everything_… there's still your past _before_ Tarsus IV_.

'I'm not an idiot, your secret's safe,' said Carol.

'Yeah, but for how long?' Jim snapped back.

'As long as you want me to keep it,' Carol replied calmly, unfazed by the teenager's angry distrust.

Jim frowned and clenched his knife more fiercely. Carol may not have meant any harm and Jim had analyzed her long enough to decide that she wasn't someone who would blab his secret but he still didn't trust her word. Words were so disastrous, unpredictable and uncontrollable. They formed promises that you intended to keep but so easily slipped from your lips – sometimes without you even realizing it. Jim knew of secrets and words all too well. He's had been ripped from him by the promise of freedom from agony. Kodos had been relentless in the pain he had inflicted upon J.T until the location of his kids had slipped from his lips. Thankfully, they had long since moved locations as per J.T's warning and had survived until he had found them again.

Carol, seeing Jim's self torment decided to intervene his thoughts.

'What of Lieutenant Pike?' she asked quietly, 'is he any better at keeping your secret than I am?'

'What?' Jim asked distractedly.

'He knows your secret or you wouldn't be staying with him,' Carol assumed, 'why would you trust him and not me? How are we any different?'

'I know Chris, _knew_ him before I left earth – I barely even know you, let alone trust you'.

'But the lieutenant was once a stranger to you too, there was a time when you didn't trust him. You grew to trust him though, how would it be any different with me?'

'That was _before_ I went to Tarsus and got screwed up-.'

'And your still the same person,' Carol interrupted, 'look, I meant what I said, alright? I won't even tell my father.'

Jim's eyes drilled into Carol's as he contemplated the truth behind her words – _To trust or not to trust? That is the question_ thought Jim.

Trust Shakespeare to fuel his indecision.

'Fine, I believe you,' he said quickly before he could change his mind.

Jim flicked his knife around and slid it back into his boot. He clenched his hand so that it was pointing and waved it vaguely towards the hallway's second entrance; the way Carol had entered from.

'Go out that way, make a wide berth and go back to the service from the right side,' he said.

'What about you?'

'I'll wait a few more minutes before I go back,' he replied.

Carol nodded. She glanced one last time at the troubled teenager before walking away out the way he'd indicated.

[break]

Alexander Marcus glanced up as his daughter slid into the seat beside him.

'You missed a bit of drama,' he murmured.

'I know, I saw,' she replied.

'Do you know anything about it?'

'No'.

'What about Jim?'

'I don't know – He turned around a corner and I lost him. I walked around the building to try and find him and when I got back I saw security arresting someone'.

Marcus nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention back to the current speaker on the stage. Carol mimicked her father's actions but her mind was processing all the information she had learnt about J.T.

Ten minutes later she noticed Jim walk past her row and return to his seat. He appeared to exchange a few words with Pike and Carol was grateful that Jim had the lieutenant to heal him.

[break]

After various presentations and recounts, the commandant of midshipmen in Starfleet Academy stood up from his seat and walked to the lectern. He concluded the service with a two-minute speech and then thanked the crowd for their attendance.

Pike and Jim stood up as the people and aliens around him dispersed. They moved with the flow of people in their row that slowly moved towards the nearest aisle. Pike knew of Jim's knowledge of the earlier situation but wisely chose to remain silent about the matter until they were in a more private location.

On their way back to Pike's parked vehicle, Alexandra Marcus spotted him.

'Great, wasn't it?' his friend asked, walking up from behind Pike and slapping him on the shoulder.

Pike turned in pleasant surprise.

'Ah, Alex – never thought I'd see you again in this crowd. Yeah, it was good as always.'

Jim glanced sideways and caught Carol looking at him but he gave no response to her inquiring expression and kept his eyes glued to the front, showing no sign of having talked to her.

'Perhaps not exactly the same as normal,' Alex hinted.

'You mean the explosive incident halfway through,' Pike stated.

Marcus nodded. Jim felt Carol's gaze burning into the side of his head. _Stupid girl_ he cursed,_ if you want to keep our conversation a secret don't go around goggling at me and if you think you're getting anymore answers your wrong._

'Unusual thing for someone so young to do… you wouldn't have any idea what brought him to such a low point?' he asked.

'I would have the foggiest,' Pike said.

'Alright then,' Marcus gave the lieutenant one last pat on the shoulder, 'well, I best be off, my car's parked over there,' he pointed in the direction he meant to leave in.

'Good seeing you,' Pike said and Marcus smiled before walking off, his daughter in tow.

Pike watched them leave for a moment then turned to Jim.

'Carol seems like a nice person, why don't you talk to her? After all, I may be human but I'm no teenager. You must get bored talking to a middle-aged man all the time,' he said.

'I'm not bored, you're a blast to talk to,' Jim said, 'and I already did.'

Pike allowed his eyebrow to rise briefly before letting it drop. He gave no other indication that Jim's answer was unusual but knew that the teenager would explain it to him once they were apart from listening ears.

Soon, they reached Pike's car and were safely inside on their way back to his house.

'I left the service, she followed me,' Jim began flatly.

Pike nodded thoughtfully and waited for Jim to continue.

'One of the kids from the ward… he kinda ran into me and recognized who I was – said my name. I didn't know it then but Carol was hiding close by and heard.'

'And would it be safe to presume that this kid was the same bomber today?'

Jim nodded. He didn't tell Pike Tyker's first plan or the fact that he knew Jim's real name. After all, he was in jail – what could he possibly do to harm Jim's identity now?

'Yeah, Tyker's his name. Not surprising though, always unstable that kid. Hard and easy to predict at the same time, got a bloody headache trying to figure him out when we were still in the ward.'

'Do you know if Carol is going to tell anyone?'

'Na, she said she wouldn't and her eyes said she wouldn't too.'

'Well, if she knows you're J.T then a computer search will bring up your whole history.'

Jim grunted.

'Yeah, you were right about the whole media stuff.'

'Maybe, it isn't such a bad thing,' Pike said carefully.

'Huh?' Jim sounded confused.

'Maybe, it's not such a bad thing that she knows your past. Like I said, I'm not the most fun person to talk to and Carol's your age. It might be good for you to talk about it with someone like her. After all, she's the only other person besides me who knows and the only other person you can be yourself around without fabricating your past.'

Jim grunted again but made no other indication that he had heard Pike's suggestion.

Pike shrugged mentally, it was worth a shot.


	20. The Happiness in Laughter

When they arrived at Pike's house, the lieutenant announced that he had some reports to read so would be antisocial for the next hour or so.

'That's ok, I was going to go out for a few hours anyway,' Jim said.

'Stay safe,' Pike said seriously and earned a cocky grin from the teenager.

'You worry too much,' Jim called over his shoulder as he jogged into the next street.

Pike watched him go and sighed.

* * *

Jim slowed to a walk as soon as he was out of sight and deliberated over what Pike had told him in the car.

When he thought about it, Pike was probably right about Carol. She _was_ the only other person who knew both the life he was living now and the life he lived then. Hence, she was the only teenager who he could really be friends with without having to worry about letting his past being exposed – without having to lie constantly. There were the other people at the hospital of course, but they didn't know who he really was and he wanted it to stay that way. If Jim Kirk and J.T were connected, the media would have a bloody buffet.

He slowed his walk as the buildings around him grew in familiarity. An unmarked door with peeling, yellow paint stuck out from it's earthen coloured neighbors like a smile amongst frowns. Jim grinned to himself as he spotted an oil-stained paper taped to the door. He walked towards the door, ripping the paper off its surface and stood still for the scanners to read him.

Click!

The door slid open and Jim walked inside, eager to put his long since used skills to work.

'Hey, Jim! Got my message?' a cheery voice was soon followed by its owner.

Torr walked into the room, wiping his greasy hands on a disheveled apron. Jim grinned and showed him the paper in his hand before placing it on top of an upturned rubbish bin at Torr's indication.

'Sure did, what'd you get that needs fixing?'

'A Yoshimitsu Computer,' Torr said, beckoning Jim to follow him as he made his way to workshop three, 'the owner hacked it to run on a duotronic system.'

Jim raised his eyebrow. Duotronic systems had only been released about four years ago. Yoshimitsu Computers on the other hand, were introduced a little over a century ago, although they were still an affordable choice.

'Seriously? How'd the computer manage to run it?' he asked incredulously.

'Sheer will power?' Torr suggested jokingly, 'in any case it didn't run it for long. It's practically fried on the inside. Think you're up to it?'

'Yep,' Jim replied, 'if he didn't store the system on a data card he'll loose it, though. Although even if he did I wouldn't be so sure that it'd be a good idea to try running a duotronic system again.'

The Denobulan laughed.

'I'll make sure I tell him that,' he laughed.

Torr showed him the damaged computer and soon Jim was using the resources of workshop number three to bring it back to life.

* * *

Jim rubbed his eyes, sore with the strain that comes from staring at the same spot for the half hour or so. He smiled to himself as he gazed upon the repaired computer and a feeling of accomplishment sparked within him.

He got up from the stool he had been seated upon and walked out of workshop three to notify Torr of the computer's status. He found the Denobulan in the main room, crouched over a stack of twisted metal. To his surprise he saw a man standing beside Torr, watching patiently as the Denobulan rummaged through the pile of assorted metal. The man's uniform indicated that he was attending Starfleet command school.

'Hey, Torr – the computer's fixed. It should work fine so long as it's owner sticks to a Yoshimitsu System,' Jim told the Denobulan's back.

Torr stood up and grinned as he turned to face Jim.

'Oh, hey Jim – didn't see you there. Nice work by the way. I'll go get you a credit wafer,' he turned to the other man, 'sorry, sir – be back in a sec.'

The Starfleet cadet nodded his consent and Torr disappeared down one of the hallways connected to the room.

'Hey, I'm Jim,' Jim told the man.

'Montgomery Scott,' he replied.

Jim suppressed a grin; Montgomery Scott had a Scottish accent that matched his last name.

'So… Command school, eh?' Jim asked.

Scott looked confused for a second before he remembered that he was wearing his uniform.

'Oh, yeah,' he said, 'well, ta tell the truth, I dinna choose this path for me'self. I graduated from Starfleet Academy a few years back and me' parents wanted me to become a command divisions officer… hence the uniform. My real passion's engineerin' though. I'll want ta be transferrin' to Starfleet Engineerin' School after I finish Command School.'

As Scott finished talking, Torr reappeared from the depths of a hallway waving a needle-shaped object in one of his hands.

'Mr. Scott! I found the Micro-optic drill you wanted. It wasn't in the tool pile after all, good thing I went to get Jim's wafer.'

'Ah! Lassie that is good news indeed!' Scott exclaimed.

Torr tossed Jim a credit wafer and exchanged the drill for the wafer Scott handed him.

'Thanks Torr,' Jim said.

'See you again when I stick the sheet on the door,' Torr answered, waving to Jim as the teenager walked for the front door.

'Will do!' Jim called over his shoulder.

As he left the shop, he hurried back to Pike's house before the lieutenant finished reading his reports.

* * *

Pike looked up from his PADD when Jim returned to the house. He had long since entrusted the teenager with the security code needed to unlock the front door.

'Hey, did you have fun?' he asked.

'First day of work,' Jim explained.

Pike's interest piped up.

'What did you do?' he asked.

'Fixed a computer,' Jim replied.

'Impressive,' Pike mused.

Jim gave him a grin before disappearing into the kitchen. Pike watched him leave and contemplated the kitchen thoughtfully. It wasn't use to having to provide for two people – especially a teenager who ate as much if not more than Pike. If it were not replenished soon, the fridge would most likely run out of food. Of course, Pike normally just used his replicator but Jim deserved real food or else he'd never put on weight. Pike made his decision and jumped up off the couch he had been lounging on. Tossing his PADD on the indent his backside had made in the cushion, he grabbed his coat and made for the door.

'Come on, Jim!' he yelled towards the kitchen.

The teenager appeared instantly.

'Something wrong?' he asked.

'Yep,' Pike replied, 'Synthetic food – that's what's wrong.'

'Tastes the same to me,' Jim shrugged, catching up to Pike at the door, 'we're we going?'

'Shopping – for _real_ food,' Pike said, 'and you're coming with me or else I'll buy some protein food that'll taste like cardboard to you.'

Jim grinned and clambered into the car with Pike.

* * *

'Ahh,' Pike said appreciatively when he spotted a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

He picked it up and showed it to Jim.

'Now _this_, is a slice of heaven,' he told the teenager.

Jim grinned.

'Too bad I'm underage,' he said.

Pike chuckled and put the bottle back where he'd found it. It was too expensive for his liking and – underage or not – he had a feeling that Jim would disregard legal rules and take a swig of the champagne.

The two moved on to the section where the vegetables and fruit were kept and Jim recognized each one easily from the countless hours of farming he had done on Tarsus IV.

'Pavel! Stop!'

Jim swiveled his gaze around to the pitiful plea he had heard. After months on Tarsus his brain was hardwired to locate cries of help, which led him to a child that he took under his wing along with the others that he had found and would find.

The owner of the pleading voice was a young Russian woman. She chased a chubby two year old whom Jim presumed was her runaway son, Pavel.

Pavel waddled as fast as his tiny legs would carry him. His head was covered in a shock of brown curls and he giggled with the happiness of a child free from his parent.

Jim's heart melted at that sound – it was one that had vanished as soon as the massacre occurred. On Tarsus IV, Jim had managed to save occasional infants from death but they had always cried, sobbed and whimpered. Never once, had he ever heard them laugh with such happiness as the child before him. Even up to the day they died in his arms.

'Pavel! Pavel Chekov! Иди сюда сейчас же!' _'Come here this instant!'_

The mother's voice had changed; it was no longer pleading but this time demanding. She must have been growing weary of her son's disobedience and was asserting the dominant role of a parent.

Little Pavel continued to ignore his mother and ran onwards, heading straight for Jim. When the toddler was close enough, Jim crouched down and gently stopped the boy by wrapping his arm around Pavel's chest.

'эй, парень, где ты думаешь, что ты собрался?' he asked softly. _'Hey kid, where do you think you're off to?' _

Pavel Chekov looked up at the stranger with wide eyes and it was enough time for his mother to catch up.

'О слава богу!' she breathed. _'Oh thank goodness!' _

She turned to Jim as she scooped her son up off the ground.

'Thankyou! Thankyou so much,' she told him.

'Нет проблем,' he replied. 'No problem.'

Pavel's mother smiled and he waved them goodbye. Pike raised his eyebrow in amusement as he watched scene before him. Jim stood unmoving for a while, watching little Pavel Chekov struggling in his mother's grip as they walked away.

'You miss them, don't you,' Pike said quietly.

Jim tore his eyes from the toddler and looked into Pike's. Pike didn't have to elaborate, Jim knew who he meant. He nodded and Pike could see the sorrow etched upon Jim's face. He smiled sympathetically and placed a hand on Jim's shoulder as he led him away.

'You'll see them again,' promised Pike, 'one day or another.'

Jim's mouth tugged upwards in a sad smile.

'I hope so,' he murmured.


	21. Stages of Grief

_*Thankyou for your patience! From here on out these chapters will follow the timeline better. _

* * *

Captain Christopher Pike muttered expletives under his breath as he strode towards the _Shipyard Bar_ or, as Pike deduced, a 'breeding ground for deaf and drunk idiots'.

The evening wind leaked through the material encompassing his legs, sending messages to his brain and triggering his muscles to vibrate. _What the hell are you doing outside a shack filled with people half your age when you could be warm in bed by now?_ His legs complained. Or maybe it was his frozen fingers; he couldn't tell where the shivering was originating from now – probably both.

Pike sighed irritably – what the hell indeed. Only half an hour ago, he had been at the Riverside Shipyard admiring the superstructure of the fleet's unfinished flagship, surrounded by crates and containers boasting her name.

The _U.S.S Enterprise_

She was a true beauty; Pike could almost envisage her magnificence as he stood, admiring her skeleton. A nervous looking crewman had later interrupted his picture perfect view, fidgeting with his PADD and alternating his gaze between Pike's face and the unfinished flagship. His body language was a clear sign that his news wasn't likely to please Pike.

And it hadn't.

The crewman was a local in Riverside – not surprising considering that his job would only be 5 minutes away – and had been contacted by his friend that there were a group of Starfleet cadets acting inappropriately at the _Shipyard Bar_. Seeing as Pike's uniform singled him out as the highest-ranking officer in the yard, the crewman had decided that it was Pike's place to discipline the cadets and had notified him of the incident.

Which brought him to the current situation he now found himself in.

Christopher Pike grimaced as he neared the bar. Even from this distance, the pulsating neon lights blinded him and blaring music deafened his hearing. He shed his weary expression but kept his irritated one – it would help the cadets decide that it was in their best interests to obey his orders, lest they piss him off any more than he already was.

* * *

'Bottle of Saurian brandy and a shot of Jack.'

_That should be enough_, thought Jim Kirk as he waved a credit wafer over the payment sensor. The bartender nodded and returned moments later with his order. Jim swiped the Jack off the counter and chucked its contents down his throat. He gave it a few minutes to take affect before moving onto the brandy.

Last week to the day had been his day off work and he'd used the time to hack Starfleet System. He hadn't been expecting much; all the other times he'd tried had failed to show results and he'd been trying since he was fifteen. That day had been different though, his skills were honed from years of practice and at long last he'd finally broken through.

He wished he hadn't.

All their profiles had been listed alphabetically and he'd found one of his kid's five names down. Abby Creta had been her name. _Had_. Her profile had told him where she was residing but it also told him her age, height, weight, date of birth and date of death. At first he thought that he'd opened up the wrong profile – that there'd been another survivor with her name – but his kids were the only survivors under the age of twelve and Abby's profile had said that she'd died at age nine from malnutrition. When realization had sunk in he'd cried for the first time since he'd returned from Tarsus IV. Then he'd sat in an alleyway for hours with his thoughts and doubts plaguing his mind; If only he'd fought harder, gotten her more food, given her more of his share. In the back of his mind, he dully registered that he was going through the stages of grief in mixed up order. All that were left was anger and acceptance to experience – which brought him back to bottle of Saurian brandy he was nursing. He probably wouldn't find anger here, but acceptance? One word: Alcohol – the fastest catalyst for acceptance… more likely memory loss. But so long as alcohol had the same effect as acceptance he couldn't care less about the technical differences.

After all the years of trying, he had finally attained the list of survivors but now dreaded the thought of going back to it and finding out the fate of the rest of his kids. He didn't want to know – he feared to know.

It was better not knowing. Because when you didn't know, you still had hope.

Jim glanced down at the powder horn bottle in his hand and took a deep draught, letting the liquor linger in his mouth before it slid down his throat. Even as the brandy disappeared down his throat, its sweet flavor urged his taste buds to take another sip. Enticing, promising… and inevitably deceiving – alcohol was no different from false hope.

'Hi, I'd like a Klabnian Fire Tea, three Budweiser Classics, two Cadrassian Sunrises and uh… any recommendations tonight?'

Jim spared the time he could be spending drinking to check out the person who had seated herself next to him. An African American woman leaned against the counter, her long, dark hair spilled around her shoulders and brushed against her cadet-reds. Normally, Jim would have dismissed her as soon as he noticed her Starfleet uniform but there was something vaguely familiar about this woman and he hated not knowing.

'How about a Slusho Mix? A little powerful though,' the bartender suggested.

'Sounds intriguing – I'll give it a try,' the woman replied and then as an afterthought, 'oh, and a shot of Jack please.'

The bartender nodded and moved away to prepare her order. Jim turned his gaze back to the bottle in his hand; he had forgotten why he had been so interested in the woman next to him. Rotating his thumb and fingers he tilted the bottle downwards and invited it's entrancing contents to take away more of his problems.

'Hey Uhura! Didn't think you'd be here. A couple of us girls are sitting back there – you want to join us?'

A brunette cadet lurched precariously towards Uhura. She smelled as if she'd taken a bath in the bottle of bourbon in her hand and the silly grin plastered on her face confirmed that she was drunk. Jim frowned slightly… _Uhura_… he knew that name, he just couldn't remember where.

'Sorry Brit, I'm still waiting for my order. You know, you might want to quit while your ahead,' Uhura motioned towards the glass bottle Brit was suffocating in her fist.

'Aww Uhura you need to live a little!' Brit slurred, 'anyway, remember what our instructor said? Never _quit_!'

She laughed as if it were the most hilarious thing in the world and staggered away. Jim took another swig of his brandy as Uhura received her order. Her name was irritating him, like an itch in his brain he couldn't scratch – who _was_ she? He decided he might as well just ask her.

'Hey,' he said and waited until she had noticed him, 'do I know you?'

Uhura raised her eyebrow in amusement. Straight forward, intoxicated and handsome – a lecher for sure. She was no stranger to bars or the lame pick-up lines that came with them. This guy was probably going to insist that he knew her but had forgotten her name and once she surrendered it to him there would be no way she'd be able to enjoy her drinks in peace... unless Brit had talked a little too loudly but then why else would he asks her such a question?

'No,' she replied flatly, 'but you should think of better pick up lines.'

She downed her shot as the last words left her mouth. Jim frowned in confusion.

'Huh? What are talking about?' he asked.

Uhura rolled her eyes but stuck to her script she used to reject drunks playing dumb.

'The answer is no to both questions,' she told him in Romulan.

Chances were, the guy wouldn't have a clue what she had said and remain speechless long enough for her to find another bar stool. Either that, or the alcohol would have reduced his memory to the size of a pea and he'd think that she didn't speak English.

'I only asked you one question,' Jim replied half in Romulan, half in English.

The alcohol in his system was making it harder for him to concentrate and he switched back and forth between languages without realizing it. Her confusing answers were deteriorating his concentration as he wondered what they meant – Did she think he was asking her out? What had he ever said to imply _that_? All he'd asked was a simple question; no need to jump to conclusions.

Conversely, Uhura was mildly shocked that the civilian had understood her. She realized her mistake and quickly wiped away the surprise on her face. He was sure to make some cocky comment now that he had seen her resolve break. However, the man continued to scrutinize her face and showed no sign that he had noticed her expression. It seemed as though he was genuinely trying to remember how he knew her. But that was impossible – Uhura had no idea who he was so it was probably just an act. It was common knowledge that it was dangerous for a woman to be alone in a bar but Uhura was not an average woman and she was determined to not to fall into this man's trap.

'I already told you – the answer is _no_,' she said more firmly this time.

Unfortunately, another Starfleet cadet was standing nearby and heard the warning tone of her voice. G.P Hendorff twisted his head around until he spotted Uhura and the civilian she was talking to. He motioned towards the man to his three friends and they nodded, understanding the situation. Satisfied they were all in agreement, Hendorff stalked over to the bar counter, his reinforcements following closely behind.

'This guy bothering you?' he asked Uhura.

'Nothing I can't handle,' Uhura replied, annoyed that Hendorff thought she couldn't hold her own.

Jim rubbed his forehead absentmindedly as the effects of the alcohol started to diminish and a headache crept in. He had forgotten to drink his brandy during his conversation with Uhura. He was about to take another swig but thought better of it; the fact that he couldn't remember where he had seen Uhura before really bugged him and the alcohol was probably the culprit for his memory loss. If he resisted the urge for a little while, he might be able to retain enough memory to remember how he knew her. He frowned as he ran through their conversation in his head… he had talked to her in Romulan; or at least he thought he had – it was a hard to trust his memory after consuming half a bottle of brandy.

Then it hit him – _Uhura_. Back when he was fourteen, he'd been confined to a hospital for almost a year. There had been a linguist who'd taught him Romulan and her name had been Uhura… coincidence? Not likely but there was no harm in checking.

'Hey,' he asked, turning to face Uhura, 'were you ever a linguist?'

Uhura opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Hendorff.

'Watch your mouth, farm boy,' he warned, 'didn't you hear what she said? Get lost.'

Jim swung his gaze towards the bigger cadet and regarded him indifferently.

'What? Is it a crime to ask a _question_ now?' he asked sarcastically.

Most of the alcohol had left his system and the grief he was attempting to drown earlier slowly infected his mind once more. Whoever this cadet was reminded him a lot like Kodos – always shelling out orders. Jim hated that; he was his own man, not somebody's puppet.

'I'm warning you, leave her alone,' Hendorff threatened him.

Jim was pissed off. Abby had died and if he couldn't give his crap to Kodos he'd shove it in this cadet's face. The Starfleet logo taunted Jim from the man's uniform and he was reminded of Starfleet's tardy response to the massacre and famine on Tarsus IV – Maybe they were to blame for Abby's death too.

'I don't take orders from _anyone_,' Jim growled, 'and if you think that uniform makes you any better than anyone else then you're way over your head.'

Hendorff glared at the younger man.

'Starfleet is a-,' he began.

'-a brainwashing, incompetent organization for smartasses like yourself,' Jim finished for him, 'congratulations – you're officially a statistic.'

'_What_ did you just call me?'

'You heard me you overgrown ape-'

Jim didn't get any further than that before Hendorff's fist set a collision course for his face. Apparently, a bar was perfect for experiencing anger after all… but not so much acceptance – alcohol was only a temporary fix.


	22. Stuck in the Past

Pike used both his hands to push against the old fashioned doors that marked the bar entrance and braced himself as he was submerged into its chaotic environment. Strobe lights danced in and out of his vision and the erratic music used his body as a medium, vibrating through his skeleton and chest until he could almost feel it pumping irregularly from his heart. An odor of sweat and distilled spirits polluted the atmosphere, mixed with a pungent stench of powerful perfumes both human and alien alike. Pike felt as if his head were being stuffed down a genie's pants – the smell was _that_ overpowering.

He wrinkled his nose and told himself to ignore its insistent whining. If he could face Klingons and Borgs in deep space then he could sure as hell survive the _Riverside Bar_ long enough to grab the misbehaving cadets and haul ass. Lucky for him, the cadets were all relatively in one place. Unfortunately for them, they were in the middle of a bar fight.

Pike saw red – literally saw red; those uniforms couldn't be any more obvious – as he witnessed four cadets use a young man as a punching bag. It was embarrassing that these senseless men paraded the same arrow head insignia as Pike did but even more so humiliating that the civilian they were assaulting was doing a pretty good job at keeping all four of them at bay.

Pike watched through brief glimpses between moving bodies as the man dodged an errant fist and countered with a right hook of his own. Spinning, he ducked and delivered a blow to another cadet's gut leaving his rear unprotected in the process, which allowed a second cadet to grab him around his chest. Temporarily immobile, the civilian was helpless as a fist was hurled towards face but he managed to jerk his head sideways at the last minute so that the cadet punched his friend in the face instead.

Pike doubled his efforts to maneuver his way towards the fight as he heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle shattering against a human skull. He broke through the crowd in time to see the civilian strewn across a table, a cadet repeatedly slamming his fist into the man's face.

WWWWWPPPPP!

Pike's whistle pierced through the noise of the fight, as loud and dangerous as an old fashion gunshot. He allowed himself a moment of fondness; Jim had been the one to teach him how to whistle like that. Back when he was still J.T, his whistle had ceased a fight – more of an attack – and even though it had come from Pike, it still had the same authoritative effect.

He missed Jim, the boy had become like a son to him. But deep down Jim was J.T and if anything, that kid was independent. After the incident with Tyker, Jim had worried for Pike's safety and after a few years had finally called it quits. He'd insisted that Pike would always be in danger as long as he had enemies and would always be a burden as long as Pike's real home was on a starship.

The noise in the bar decreased in volume considerably and all eyes relocated to Pike as someone thoughtfully turned off the music. The four cadets who had been fighting faced the Starfleet Captain, guilt and shame written on their faces. The remaining cadets who hadn't been involved in the fight were scattered throughout the bar but immediately snapped to attention out of habit and hope that it would cause the Captain to feel more lenient. Pike met each and every one of them with a stern glare, holding his gaze longest on the four cadets.

'Outside, all of you,' he ordered.

Frozen with shock, none of them moved and Pike's brow deepened minutely at their delayed reaction. _Alcohol_ he determined; depressants would be slowing down their brains. He knew that they would eventually realize what he had said regardless of the drugs in their system but it was late and he was in a foul mood so he decided to hurry them up.

'_Now_!' he barked and this time his severe tone was enough to startle them into movement.

The authority in his voice was enough to cause everyone to exit the bar at an impressive speed. Those in cadet-reds kept their eyes downcast in shame as they past their ranking officer.

The man on the table was the only person who had made no attempt to move but instead tilted his head backwards to gaze up at his rescuer. For a moment he wondered why the older man was standing on the ceiling but nonchalantly blamed it on the alcohol messing with his senses.

'You can whistle really loud,' he slurred, 'you know that?'

Something in the back of the civilian's mind tried to pinpoint the familiarity of this man's face and his loud whistle but he'd already gone through that feeling only ten minutes ago and it taken a fight for him to remember so he gave up.

Pike peered down at the young man as he struggled to roll himself off the table.

'Are you alright, son?' he asked.

The civilian nodded and waved his hand dismissively.

'A couple of beers and I'll be back on my feet,' he announced confidently as he staggered towards the closest stack of napkins.

Pike raised his eyebrow but nodded nonetheless. He glanced at the bartender who had been watching him since his entrance.

'Do you know who started the fight?' he asked.

The bartender nodded.

'Sorry to say sir, but it was a cadet who threw the first swing,' he said.

Pike nodded, his suspicions confirmed.

'I'll be right back – just need to have a quick word with the idiots outside,' he said.

The bartender nodded his consent and Pike tapped a Starfleet credit wafer over the payment sensor as he passed the bar counter.

'Compensation,' he explained briefly and the bartender inclined his head gratefully.

* * *

'What the _hell_ were you thinking? You attacked a _civilian_!' Pike snapped at the line of shamefaced cadets, 'do you have any idea how your _atrocious_ behavior reflects on Starfleet?

He let his furious gaze slide over each of the cadets and savored the flinch it elicited from each of them. He didn't care that only a third of them were responsible for the brawl – it was late and he was not in the mood for technicalities.

'Those who were involved in the fight, step forward,' he shot out and four male cadets reflexively obeyed the order given to them.

Pike regarded each of them with disgust.

'I hope you understand that your uniform is a privilege gentlemen,' he lectured the four cadets, 'when you wear that uniform you are representing Starfleet and we expect you to do as such!'

He glowered at the four cadets and waited until they wilted under his gaze before addressing all the cadets present.

'Report back to your supervisor immediately and don't be surprised if you're declined entry to the academy after your little stunt.'

He directed the last part to the four men who were still standing apart from their fellow cadets. Pike watched them disperse before turning on his heel and striding towards the bar. He was confident that they would all follow his instructions – they may have acted like idiots tonight but Starfleet didn't recruit idiots and certainly not those who couldn't obey orders.

* * *

Pike sighed wearily as he trudged back into the bar. He'd have to contact the cadets' supervisor and write up an official report for the incident. But right now he had to confirm that the civilian involved in the fight wasn't too badly injured and hear his side of the story to include in the report.

He found the man slouched over a table, napkins shoved up his broken nose in a futile attempt to slow the flow of blood. Before, his face had been covered in blood but now it was relatively clean save for the places where his skin had split under a well-placed fist. He had most likely cleaned it in the bathroom for his blonde hair was tinged brown where it was still damp and the front of his collar was wet as well. The young man had one elbow propped up on the tabletop and the other in waving in the air as he held the length of his nose between the heels of his hands. Pike watched as the man jerked his palms sideways and grunted in satisfaction when it produced a loud _crunch_.

Pike dragged a stray chair over to the man's table and sat down. The man didn't seem to notice; instead, he cautiously felt the structure of his nose for any abnormalities before pulling out his impromptu nose plugs, which were weighed down with so much blood they'd been on the verge of falling out themselves anyway. Only then, did he finally look up and acknowledge the Starfleet Captain.

Pike's eyes narrowed as he took in the face. No longer obscured by blood, the man's features were clearer and strangely familiar.

'What's your name son?' he asked.

The young man raised his eyebrow.

'Has it really been that long?' he asked and then shrugged, 'but then again, it took me a while to realize who you are.'

'And who would that be?' Pike asked, curious and confused at the same time.

'A liberator, a friend… a father.'

Pike frowned slightly as he considered the man's words. He had plenty of friends and his involvement with Starfleet may have liberated others in some way… but a father? Then it hit him – how could he have ever forgotten those eyes?

'Jim,' he said quietly.

Jim replied with a mock salute.

'Aye, Captain.'

'What're you doing out here?'

'What? You mean in Iowa or in this bar?'

'Both… I guess.'

Jim sighed.

'This is where I grew up – there's nothing else out there for me. Besides, I found them.'

It took Pike a moment to realize what he meant.

'Your kids?' he asked incredulously.

Jim became very quiet and looked down at his hands. He absentmindedly began rubbing the back of his knuckles, which had been split as he'd attacked the cadets.

'I got the list, but I only read one.'

He finally looked up and this time he drilled straight into Pike's eyes.

'Her name was Abby Creta. She died years ago and I didn't even know.'

Pike kept silent. He knew from experience that if he prompted Jim for more information he'd clam up. Jim looked down at his hands again.

'I spent so many years trying to find them and when I do the first one on the list is dead. I don't even know if I want to read the others… it hurts too much. And even if she was still alive, I wouldn't know what to say to her,' he finished sadly.

'You'd tell her whatever you thought was right,' Pike told, 'because those kids would've followed you to the ends of the earth if you'd asked them to.'

'Yeah, much good that'd do them,' Jim mumbled.

He stood up from his seat and Pike followed suit, forcing Jim to listen to him before he left.

'Looking for those kids were your life's ambition. What're you planning to do now?' he questioned.

Jim shrugged belatedly.

'Same thing I've been doing so far – not get blown up like my father.'

His hatred for Starfleet had never completely died down. If anything it had been fueled with the knowledge of Abby's death. Pike regarded Jim sympathetically – the kid would never reach his full potential if he lived a mediocre life. Hell, with Jim's skills he found it hard to believe the kid hadn't already gone mad with boredom.

'Enlist in Starfleet,' Pike said.

Jim scoffed.

'Enlist in–Don't you remember the kid I used to be? What I used to say about Starfleet?'

Pike ignored his questions. Jim hadn't barreled his way out of the bar just yet – there must have been something in the back of his mind stopping him or else he wouldn't still be here.

'You're not a kid anymore,' Pike reminded him, 'you have the potential to be so much more – do you really want to work backend jobs for the rest of your life? Or do you want to do something worthwhile?

'Starfleet won't accept a fourteen year old murderer. It'll ruin their _perfect_ reputation,' Jim said sarcastically.

'You're not fourteen anymore,' Pike replied.

Jim spoke as if was lost in the past. _To him, everything he _was_ is what he is _now_,_ thought Pike. Arguing with him would be futile, he still had his father's stubbornness so Pike decided to leave him with statements, not questions – give him something to think about, not answer back to. Act as if Jim had already accepted his proposal – because he had, even if he didn't know it yet.

'We're at Riverside shipyard inspecting construction of a new vessel. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow 0600.'

Pike paused and locked eyes with his best friend's son one last time.

'Your father was the captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including your mother's and yours. I dare you to do better.'

Pivoting sharply, Pike strode out the door and didn't look back. _Let him think on that_, he thought as he left.

Jim watched as the two front doors swung shut behind Captain Pike's retreating back. His last words echoing in Jim's mind, _I dare you to do better_. The Captain was right Jim decided, there was nothing left for him in Iowa. And he'd be damned if he ever lost a dare with the man who'd saved him twice – once on Tarsus and once fifteen minutes ago from a bar fight.


	23. Bathroom with no Porthole

Dirt road and green-gray fields blurred as Jim slid past them on his motorbike. An opaque screen of fog seemed to fill the air like water in an ocean but disappeared whenever Jim came within thirty metres. It was as if he had his own portable atmosphere and lithosphere.

Last night, he had made his decision based on a gut feeling. Deprived of a family and consequently, sentimentality, he had left his tiny apartment with nothing but his motorbike to transport him to the shipyard. He didn't own much anyway – only the necessities needed to survive. After Tarsus IV he had lost his interest in materialistic things.

At a glance, Riverside Shipyard appeared relatively unsecure but as he neared the metal fence that bordered the yard, Jim saw that it met Starfleet standards. The fence hummed with Invisible energy beams that rose into the sky. Vertically aimed beams ensured that the yard could not be breached from the sky and would likely set off multiple alarms should someone attempt to. The security measures may have appeared ludicrous but when Jim saw what they protected, it justified Starfleet's excessiveness.

Taking up almost half of the yard was a Starfleet Starship. It was clear she was still a working progress but the sheer size of her was enough to blow him away. Starships weren't uncommon and Jim had even been on one when he left Tarsus IV but they had never struck him as anything but ordinary. But this ship struck as him as special, he didn't know why – it just did.

As the main gate of Riverside Shipyard loomed closer, Jim parked his bike behind a dense clove of bushes. Chances were it'd get nicked but he was next to a Starfleet Shipyard so he doubted a lowlife thief would even consider going near this place. Jim knew that the academy was all the way in San Francisco so if he stayed he wouldn't need his bike anyway.

Jim spotted the main gate some distance away from him and began walking over. As he neared, he took a moment to inspect the signboard that flanked its right side.

**STARFLEET SHIPYARD 2-1A**

CONSTRUCTION ZONE

**SFC DIVISION**

United Federation of Planets

**SECTOR 47**

**NOTICE:**

This Facility is in SF-5SC Security

**LEVEL: 3**

'I.D sir?'

Jim turned to the security guard who'd spoken and barely held back his snort of derision. _Sir, huh?_ Nevertheless, he handed over his standard issue identification card.

'I'm not a cadet but I think Captain Pike may have cleared me for the shuttle,' he explained as the man ran his I.D through the system.

The guard nodded and handed Jim back his card.

'Welcome… Jim Kirk,' he said, surprise creeping into his voice, 'Military Shuttle _Bardeen_ is located at the shuttlepad near the rear of the yard.

Jim grimaced; he was going to have to get used to that. In Riverside, Iowa everyone knew everyone and he could move around without so much as an eyebrow raise when he mentioned his name. In a place like Starfleet Academy – _especially_ Starfleet academy – he was likely to have people getting in his face for his surname.

The walk to the shuttle was relatively short in distance but tedious with the amount of people in the yard. Engineers and crewman swarmed the ground and air, most hauling pieces of equipment. Other cadets dressed in identical red uniforms milled around him, reminding Jim of an endless flow of blood. A scene of bloody bodies strewn across an abandoned field flashed across Jim's eyes and he quickly swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat.

* * *

Christopher Pike stood a few metres away from the _Bardeen_, his eyes sliding repeatedly towards the main gate. He didn't even know why he was doing it, there wasn't really much reason to expect anything but still…

'We waiting for something Captain?'

Pike turned to the shuttle pilot who was waiting expectantly beside him. He glanced one last time towards the gate before returning his gaze to the pilot.

'No… no I guess not,' he said and the pilot nodded before moving towards the shuttle.

Pike was about to follow suit when he noticed a disheveled looking man weaving his way through the crowd. _Well I'll be damned_ thought Pike _he really is his father's son_. A kirk could never ignore the beckoning of space forever.

'I'm glad you chose to come,' he told Jim.

Jim smiled and shrugged.

'You were right, normal is boring,' he said and walked towards the shuttle.

'You're your own man, you know,' Pike called after him, 'remember that.'

Jim half turned and gave Pike a grateful smile before reaching the _Bardeen_. Pike watched as Jim walked to the shuttle door, pause and then enter. He felt a small flash of pride for the kid and smiled to himself – Jim would give Starfleet Academy a run for their money.

* * *

As Jim entered the shuttle he paused to give the interior a quick eyeshine. It looked safe enough and as far as he was concerned all the other cadets were average teenagers and adults. Mercifully, the shuttle was shaped differently from the one he had been rescued in on Tarsus IV to accommodate for the number of people it would need to transport; instead of two rows of seats lining the walls of the shuttle this one was twice as big with four rows of seats facing each other in two aisles.

He walked into the shuttle, turning right towards the rows of seats. No sooner had he done so than a metal bar obstructed his view with a **LOW CLEARANCE** warning printed in bold, black words.

He ducked the bar and walked down the aisle, searching for an empty chair – preferably an isolated one. Curious faces flipped up as he passed but he ignored them. The roof of the shuttle was too low for him so he was forced to stoop slightly, placing his hand against the roof to ensure that his head wouldn't accidentally rise too high and hit the roof.

A few seconds later he spotted an empty seat and gratefully sunk into it, pulling on the safety straps. Once settled, he scanned the faces surrounding him out of habit and was surprised to find that he recognized one of the cadets sitting opposite him a few seats down.

Uhura had spotted Jim from the moment he'd walked into the _Bardeen_. He was a bit hard to miss dressed in the same bloodstained civilian clothes he had worn the night before. Amongst a crowd of bright red uniforms, his drab clothing stuck out like a sore thumb. Ironic how that worked – if it were the other way around, her cadet-reds would stick out as soon as she walked into a crowd of civilians.

'You never told me where you learnt Romulan,' she said when he met her gaze.

Gazes swiveled, attracted by sound of a human voice from the constant hum of machinery they'd been listening to for the past half hour.

'You never asked,' Jim replied flatly, wishing that she would choose to make conversation where it wouldn't be so obviously noticed.

'Where did you learn Romulan?' she asked promptly.

'Off-planet.'

Uhura shook her head in annoyance and Jim allowed himself the ghost of a smiled. It wasn't the answer she wanted and he knew it.

'I meant _who_ did you learn Romulan from?' she amended.

In actual fact, _she_ had been the one to teach him that language back when he was still recovering at the hospital ward. He contemplated reminding her subtly who he was but Uhura was by no means shy and Jim didn't want to take the risk that she might inadvertently revealing his past to the entire shuttle. Come to think of it, he probably wouldn't tell her either way – he had left J.T behind years ago. It would be disastrous if J.T's true identity – Jim Kirk – became public knowledge. No, he preferred the privacy and anonymity of his pseudonym.

'A linguist,' he finally replied.

Uhura gave him a condescending stare.

'You don't elaborate much, do you?'

Jim opened his mouth to reply but a sudden outburst from the lavatories ceased all conversation.

'Are you people _deaf_? I told you I don't need a doctor, dammit! I _am_ a doctor!'

Jim and half the cadets in the shuttle turned to their heads towards the heated argument originating from the bathroom. A man was being forced from the cubicle by one of the shuttle's crew. He spoke with a southeastern North American accent and was perspiring noticeably. Jim guessed he was in his mid to late twenties judging by his weathered appearance and the alcoholic odor.

'Sir, You need to find a seat.'

The crewman was gently wresting the man towards the rows of seated cadets. Their argument grew in volume as they neared Jim=

'I _had_ one! In the bathroom with no _ports_!'

'You need to sit down in one of the seats.'

'I suffer from aviaphobia which, in case you don't understand big words, _means fear of flying_.'

Sir, for your own safety, sit down or else I'll make you sit down.'

The man glared at the crewman one last time before gruffly complying. He lumbered over to the last empty seat, which so happened to be next to Jim. He sat down heavily and glanced sideways at Jim as he pulled on the safety straps.

'I might throw up on you,' he said flatly.

Kirk raised an eyebrow. This guy was different from the normally polite and 'porcelain' cadets in the shuttle. All of them were extremely passive and could easily be manipulated.

Puke wasn't really that bad. Jim had gotten use to the mushy substance after his first week on Tarsus IV. Most of the kids threw up whatever they managed to scrounge before Jim realized that their stomachs were being overwhelmed and forced them to eat slowly. If this man wasn't exaggerating, there was always the bathroom he had been dragged from. On Tarsus there were no showers, only a river that had been unfortunately guarded by soldiers for its water supply – that left the occasional shower whenever it rained.

'Shuttles are pretty smooth running,' Jim shrugged, 'and your not going to die if that's what you're worried about.

'Don't pander me, kid,' the man growled before he launched into his lecture.

'One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Unpredicted solar flare might strike when we leave the magnetosphere and cook us in our seats. Hell, some of the damn passengers are _blue_. Wait till you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles,' he turned his head away from Jim momentarily to fasten his buckle more securely, 'see if you're still so relaxed when you're eyeballs bleed,' he turned back to Jim and widened his eyes briefly to prove his point,' tell me if you're still feeling good when ship gravity fails and your intestines start wrapping themselves around your stomach, ask yourself-'

The other cadets were beginning to grow impatient at the man's constant bantering and Jim was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all the attention they were directing in his direction since his neighbor was the perpetrator. Uhura was muttering under her breath in Tellarite, trying to refrain from verbalizing her impatience in English. If he didn't interrupt soon, it was likely that the man would continue until they reached their destination and mentally exhaust everybody in their aisle.

'-I hate to break this to you but Starfleet operates in space. Are you sure you didn't apply for a position with the Chicago Transit Authority?'

Thankfully, the aviaphobian ceased his grotesque death descriptions.

'Yeah, well, I got nowhere to go but up – my ex-wife took _everything_ in the divorce. You'd think that a species that's succeeded in reaching the stars could have managed by now to devise a more equitable method for dividing communal assets. Sometimes I think the Klingons have the right idea. Anyway, all I got left is my bones.'

Jim nodded slowly, he actually felt sorry for the guy. At least he wasn't he going to be the only one launching into this whole Starfleet business with nothing but the clothes on his back – and coincidentally, nothing to loose.

'You really know how to pick 'em Bones,' he mused.

'Bones?' the man asked.

'Yeah, that's all you got left, that's all you are – what else am I suppose to call you?' Jim shrugged.

The man rolled his eyes.

'McCoy, Leonard McCoy,' he said.

Jim frowned slightly as the name stirred a long forgotten memory within his mind.

'You know, you remind me of someone,' Bones frowned, 'you've got weird coloured eyes. Can't remember where I've seen them though.'

Jim shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time someone had compared him to George Kirk. This guy was probably just to drunk to make the connection. He watched as Leonard reached into his pocket, sparing a fleeting glance for the female crewman who had hauled him from the bathroom and quickly pulled a metal flask from his pocket. He chucked its alcohol-scented contents down his throat while she wasn't looking and quickly shoved the empty flask back in his pocket.

'Given the fact that you have aviaphobia, you probably should've saved some of that for later,' Jim commented.

McCoy glared at him but Jim kept his face completely deadpan.

'Bones,' he added.

Bones glare increased in intensity. Totally unabashed, Jim grinned back – he liked this guy. At least he had the sense how to react to Jim's teasing, unlike the cadet at the bar.

'Jim,' he said and for the first time since Tarsus, offered his hand to the man beside him as a peace offering.

Bones grunted and accepted the handshake.


End file.
